


2 Sons: Call of Duty

by Harlee_Quinn



Series: 2 Sons [1]
Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-28
Updated: 2014-03-29
Packaged: 2018-01-06 13:42:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 50
Words: 351,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1107534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harlee_Quinn/pseuds/Harlee_Quinn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marlowe returns home after a 10-year absence and is manipulated by her brother to come to Charming. There she is thrown headfirst into his dangerous MC life and into the path of Jax Teller. Can Marlowe find a place among the Club, heal the breach between her and Happy and develop a relationship with Jax despite the fact that he has an old lady?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sons of Anarchy. I do, however, own Marlowe and any other OCs that appear in the Two Sons Universe.**

* * *

_**Bakersfield, CA – Friday, January 30, 2009** _

"Come on, you piece of shit!" Marlowe growled under her breath. "Just a couple more fuckin' miles, for chrissakes! Please, don't fail me now," she begged as she gripped the wheel until her knuckles turned white and rattled it angrily.

Marlowe quickly stopped her pointless act of aggression, however, as it suddenly felt almost wobbly in her grasp. It would serve her right to lose control of the POS if she had further loosened the steering wheel to the point that it came flying off. Marlowe made a mental note of just another thing that was wrong with her "new" car.

The inconsistent rat-a-tat knocking of the 1999 Ford Escort's engine had started about an hour into the 3½-hour drive. It had steadily increased from that of a dull whisper to a very consistent thrumming as the car's lone occupant made her way first on the I-5N and then the CA-99N. Marlowe had taken a calculated risk buying a car from the first smarmy used car salesman she came across back in Miramar, but the idea of taking a Greyhound bus to Bakersfield had been particularly unappealing.

Actually, the thought of willingly spending a significant amount of time crowded into an enclosed space with complete strangers made her flesh crawl. She'd had enough of that shit to last her a lifetime. Besides, having her own means of transportation was more suited to Marlowe's independent spirit which had been stifled and nearly suffocated for far too long. Unfortunately, she let the unpleasant thought of spending another night within the confines of San Diego impact her better judgment and, in her haste to escape, it was becoming increasingly clear that she had bought herself a fuckin' lemon.

Marlowe reached out to fiddle with the radio's preset buttons, hoping to find another station. Anything would be better than the twangy voice of some female country singer crooning about her man doing her wrong, yet loving him despite all of his unforgivably shitty antics. The radio, it seemed though, was a piece of crap like the rest of the car because she kept getting nothing but static. What she needed was the jarring noise of some hard rock to distract her from her nervous anticipation, which had caused her shoulders to tense and her stomach to shrivel into a tight ball of angst the closer she got to Bakersfield. To distract herself, Marlowe took in the shabby interior of her most recent purchase and cataloged the numerous ways she had gotten screwed.

 _Maybe I should have let that slimy asshole at the dealership screw me blind for a better ride at the same price like he offered_ , Marlowe thought, wrinkling her nose as she recalled the leering face of the middle-aged Lothario with the greased back hair and leathery tanned skin. _Nice to know the world hasn't changed all that much in the last two years_.

Ultimately, Marlowe had declined the offer of a "special discount" and settled on the Escort, even though she would have much preferred the even older, but serviceable 4×4 Jeep Wrangler she had eyed first. The Wrangler, however, had been almost $2500 more and money wasn't exactly growing on trees nowadays and digging into her one and only savings account to buy a car, even a cheap one, would put a good-sized dent in it.

With no job and no hope of one on the horizon any time soon, her meager savings were all Marlowe had left to fall back on. After all, there was no way to know if the welcome mat would be rolled out for her once she got home. That is if she could even call Bakersfield home after a ten-year absence. But in spite of her fears of a lukewarm reception, Marlowe knew that the small white house with dark blue trim and slate gray shutters was probably the only real home she had ever known. And when you felt broken and bruised and needed a safe harbor where you could lick your wounds and pick up the pieces of a broken life, there really was no place like home.

Narrowing her gold-flecked gray eyes, Marlowe noted the signs for the exit onto California Avenue. Just another mile or two and she would be home again.

 _And then, God help us all_.

* * *

It was nearly midnight when Amelia Lowman received the shock of her life.

Picking up the universal remote from the coffee table, Amelia shut the television off with a sigh. The sudden silence fell like a heavy blanket over the small living room and reverberated in her head. Amelia couldn't abide such quiet, but neither could she tolerate the droning commentary of Charlie Rose nor the inane chatter of late-night talk shows. Lately it seemed that nothing was enough to distract her from the fact that she was bored to death. Always alone and mostly confined to the house, Amelia's boredom almost had her desperate enough to consider giving her sister a call and inviting her to spend the night. But while Amelia wanted company, she wasn't in the mood to fight with her baby sister. Celia's current bone of contention was Amelia's situation and she wasn't interested in rehashing the same old shit again.

Bracing one hand on the armrest and the other on the handle of her quad cane, Amelia slowly pushed herself up from the comfortable, but well-worn recliner and made her way to the kitchen. It was slow going at first as the articular cartilage damage in her right knee was only getting worse, but short of having surgery there really was no help for it. With medications and home remedies rarely helping to alleviate the pain nowadays, her bad knee was just one of many ailments she had learned to live with.

In spite of the considerable pain she seemed to suffer from on a near-daily basis, walking into her kitchen almost always brought a smile to Amelia's face. It was easily the biggest room in her small house and her most favorite. Surrounded by the knickknacks she had collected over the years or had received as gifts, gleaming pots and pans hung from a wrought iron rack over the kitchen island as bottles of flavored olive oils dotted the counter and pots of fresh herbs sat on the windowsill. Filled to the brim, several bins held the garden fresh vegetables that were staples of the Cuban cuisine of her childhood in Miami, such as onions, peppers, plantains and yucca and the room smelled richly of spices like saffron and coriander.

The bright yellow paint on the walls contrasted beautifully with the cherry wood of the brightly shining cabinets that Amelia had only recently polished herself with lemon oil. She had been feeling better than usual on that particular day and, deciding to make the best of it, had accomplished the task by standing on an old stool. Unfortunately, getting caught by her sister during one of her unannounced visits had been the basis of their last argument and the reason Amelia hadn't spoken to Celia in over a week.

 _Maldita! Had I broken a hip, it would have been all Ceci's fault. She scared the crap out of me sneaking in the back door like that_ , Amelia thought to herself irritably as she bustled around the kitchen island. Grabbing the red tea kettle sitting on a trivet, she filled it with water before placing it on one of the six burners of her oversized white enamel stove.

Grabbing her favorite mug, Amelia dropped a Tetley tea bag into it and grabbed a small plate from one of the cupboards. In the mood for a piece of Entenmann's guava and cheese danish, she was heading over to the sturdy oak table on the other side of the kitchen but paused, thinking she had heard what sounded like a car pull into her driveway.

"That cannot be Ceci at this hour," Amelia reasoned with herself as she grabbed her cane and slowly puttered her way to the front door.

* * *

 _Well, here goes nothing_ , Marlowe thought grimly as she stepped out of the car.

Slamming the door behind her, she stopped at the edge of the walkway and looked up at the house. Marlowe couldn't remember the last time she had let her nerves get away from her like this. As soon as she passed Beale Park and turned onto Oleander Avenue, she had to physically fight the urge to slam on the brakes and turn the car around. She had pushed herself, however, to finish the journey she had started earlier that day which finally brought her back home.

Despite the late hour and its darkness, Marlowe could see the house quite clearly and marveled over the fact that it had not changed all that much. Its wide porch ran along the front and wrapped around the right side of the house, an esthetic concession that had been made to distract from the fact that the house was relatively small. On it were two old fashioned rocking chairs that as far as Marlowe could remember had always been there. She had spent many hours after school sitting on the warm wood of the sun bleached porch floor as Amelia gossiped socially with her neighbors while snapping string beans. If she closed her eyes, Marlowe could almost smell the flowers and tomatoes Amelia used to grow in oversized clay pots, along with the sweet scent of green peas that grew on vines along the trellis.

Bracing herself for possible rejection, Marlowe's long strides made quick work of eating up the walkway to the front door. Before she could place her combat booted foot on the first step, however, the porch light flicked on and illuminated the front door, its screen door tightly secured. Suddenly, the door was flung open and there in the doorway stood a tall figure. The glare of the porch light prevented Marlowe from seeing more than just a shadowy outline before the screen door squeaked open and someone slowly stepped out.

Marlowe could barely swallow the sudden lump in her throat as her eyes took in the woman standing above her. She shouldn't be as surprised as she was. After all, it was to be expected that Amelia would look older after so many years. What Marlowe hadn't expected was for her to look so frail.

Despite that frailty, however, Amelia's face still reflected the undeniable beauty of her youth. Pale skinned with dirty blonde hair as a child, Marlowe remembered wishing she had been blessed with Amelia's caramel skin tone, strong cheekbones, warm, almost honey-brown eyes, and strongly defined chin. The soft lines creasing the corners of her eyes and the laugh lines around her full mouth could not distract from the beauty of her oval face. Her long, sable-colored hair devoid of all gray was pulled back into an intricate roll at the nape of her long, slender neck. The dark blue housecoat she wore was draped over a figure that had lost much of its voluptuousness. The cane gripped in a liver-spotted, yet well-manicured hand spoke volumes, and yet Amelia said nothing.

Marlowe moistened her lips and found that her throat was so dry that she was barely able to croak out the words, "Hey, Tía."

A soft gasp was followed by a softly uttered exclamation. "Aye, Dios mio!"

As Marlowe slowly made her way up the porch steps, she watched as first Amelia's hands reached up to clasp themselves together as if in prayer before she extended her arms to pull Marlowe to her. As the older woman wrapped her thin arms around her shoulders, Marlowe buried her face into the crook of Amelia's neck and squeezed her back gently, afraid she would break her. As Amelia continued making loud proclamations in Spanish, Marlowe finally let loose with the tears she had been holding back for what seemed like forever as she finally heard the words she had needed to hear for so long.

"Mi hijita querida! Por fin regresaste a tu casa!"

* * *

"Two years, Marley! Two fuckin' years, cabrona, and not one damned phone call?!" Amelia raged as she looked down on the young woman she had practically raised as a daughter.

Sitting at the kitchen table like when she was a child, Marlowe kept her hands folded on her lap and her eyes downcast as Amelia bore down on her with unrelenting brown eyes. After all, she wasn't entirely surprised that Amelia would angrily rail away at her for thirty minutes, especially since as far as the older woman knew, Marlowe was dead or, at the very least, missing.

_Silly me for thinking that Tía was looking kind of frail._

After happily pulling Marlowe into the kitchen and sitting her at the table, Amelia grabbed the Tupperware bowl with a whole, cut up chicken she had marinating in the refrigerator and quickly whipped together arroz con pollo, green salad with fresh avocado and sweet fried plantains. It was one of Marlowe's favorite meals and Amelia's way of killing the fatted calf for her prodigal daughter. After stuffing her with several steaming plates of the fluffy yellow rice with olives, pimentos and chucks of flavorful chicken, Amelia remembered why she had every right to be royally pissed off at the young woman and proceeded to let her have it with both barrels.

The mix of English and Spanish with a liberal sprinkling of curses and thinly-veiled threats of bodily harm was to Marlowe's ears part of the happy soundtrack from her childhood as a member of the Lowman household. Until that moment, she hadn't realized how much she had missed having someone care for her that much and suddenly felt a wave of guilt for forgetting. So after stuffing herself with the good food that Amelia was known all over the neighborhood for, Marlowe figured that taking her shit like a man would be her penance and sat quietly as Amelia continued to rant.

After venting two years of pent up frustration and fear, Amelia finally found herself winding down as Marlowe patiently waited for her to calm down. To Amelia's way of thinking, it just showed how much the girl had changed since leaving California, and she shook her head with wonder as she pondered these subtle changes in her personality. Initially, it appeared that Marlowe Guthrie had not physically changed all that much in the ten years she had been gone from Bakersfield. Yet, looking into her gray eyes and noting the shadows in them, Amelia saw beyond the strange, quiet attitude to the woman underneath. Her heart ached as she wondered just what kind of shit Marlowe had gotten herself into since they had last spoken over two years ago.

Suddenly, Amelia felt overwhelmingly tired and fumbled to pull out a chair. Quickly jumping to her feet, Marlowe gently grabbed her by her slight shoulders and carefully guided Amelia until she was comfortably settled in the chair.

"Now that you're finished tearing me a new asshole," Marlowe said with a raised eyebrow, "maybe you can finally enjoy that cup of tea." She motioned to the neglected mug with its unused tea bag inside.

"Actually, I think I'd prefer some coffee," Amelia replied, sounding slightly winded.

"Really? It's almost three in the morning," Marlowe queried.

"I'm old. I don't need to sleep as much as I want some coffee," Amelia insisted.

Making her way to the cupboard, from memory Marlowe was able to locate the large canister of Café Bustelo and the raw cane sugar Amelia kept in a pretty blue and white-speckled canister. Retrieving the stove top espresso maker kept in its customary place in the cabinet above the sink, Marlowe started the process of making proper Cuban coffee.

Amelia smiled as she watched Marlowe puttering around her kitchen. "It's good to see that you haven't forgotten everything I taught you."

"It would be pretty hard to forget since I learned from the best," Marlowe replied with a slight smile as she concentrated on the task at hand.

Going to another cupboard, she pulled out tiny white cups and matching saucers and set them on the table. Finally pouring out two servings of the rich, creamy and sweetly thickened coffee, the two women settled down in silence as they sipped on their Café Cubano. Hit with sudden nostalgia, Marlowe realized just how much she had missed this kitchen and the companionable silence she shared with the woman that had been such a force in her life.

Now as Amelia placed the small cup on its saucer with a slight click, Marlowe realized that the time for reminiscing on the past was over. "So, do you want to fill me in on why you haven't bothered to pick up the phone to call me in two years, hija?"

Marlowe slumped against the high-backed chair and sighed. The response to that logical query would be a difficult conversation to have and one that she would have to ease herself into. Right now wasn't the time, but Marlowe knew that for now she owed Amelia something of an answer.

"I guess you could say I got a little caught up in my work," she offered hesitantly without really saying much at all.

"A 'little caught up', Marley?" Amelia questioned, her voice rife with doubt. "A month, maybe even two I can understand, but it's been _twenty-six_. I know that what you do makes it difficult to stay in touch, but _nothing_ for over two years? Not even a postcard. Is it any wonder why I was so worried? I thought you were dead."

"I know, Tía, and I'm so sorry, but it was unavoidable," Marlowe lied. "You don't have to worry about me any more, though because I'm home for good." She watched with bated breath as Amelia's shoulders slackened and the pinched look on her face softened into an expression of relief. Hopefully, that would be enough of an explanation for now.

"¿De verdad, querida?" Amelia reached over to cover Marlowe's hand with her own, her eyes wide and moist. "No more adventures?"

Marlowe shook her head, trying hard to hide her own sadness in light of the joy beaming at her from Amelia's face. "That's a done deal for me, Tía." _Not that I had a choice, but it_ _'s not like I_ _could really deal with that shit anyway._

Amelia let her right hand rest over her heart and laughed, giddy with relief. "I can't say that I'm sorry because I'm not. I know I told you that I would always support your decision, but in my heart I never wanted that life for you, Marley. And you know I wasn't alone on that—" Amelia started, but Marlowe cut her off.

"Maybe, but at least you didn't act like a flaming asshole about it," she retorted, now even more put off by the conversation, something she hadn't thought possible.

"Marley, your brother—"

"Is a flaming asshole and _not_ my brother. He got off on acting more like my father than anything else," she replied angrily.

Not at all surprised by the sudden turn in conversation, Amelia was glad to see the spark return to the eyes of the young woman she had never known as having a problem speaking her mind. "Only because he loves your stubborn ass," Amelia said quietly. "You can't really fault him for that."

In the span of five minutes, Marlowe felt herself regressing into the petulant tween Happy had dumped on his mother so many years ago as she rolled her eyes. "Yeah, he loves me _soooo_ _much_ that he hasn't spoken to me in _ten fuckin' years_."

"Because you're not as pig-headed as he is, right?" Amelia countered evenly. "If I didn't know better, I would say he is indeed your father because you're just as bad as he is. You could have just as easily reached out to him, you know."

With no snappy barb at the ready to aim at Amelia's son, Marlowe relented. "And you know, I really hate when you take that quiet rational tone with me."

"Because you know I'm right and it pisses you off. Just another way you are so much like Enrique," Amelia retorted with a sly grin.

Marlowe narrowed her gaze at Amelia. "Maybe, but there's absolutely no question as to where he got it from, now is there?"

From the moment Marlowe had laid eyes on her surrogate mother, a nagging sensation had settled in the pit of her stomach. She had been so happy and relieved to have been welcomed back with open arms that Marlowe had avoided acknowledging that there was something wrong. Now that Amelia had opened the door to unpleasant topics—at least that's what Marlowe considered any conversation involving Happy—she realized that she couldn't avoid it any longer.

"You're sick, aren't you?" Marlowe asked calmly and without panic. She quickly internalized the shock of pain that shot through her heart when Amelia nodded matter of fact.

"Yes, I am." Pulling at the neckline of her housecoat, Amelia reached inside to pull out a soft piece of silicone and with a smirk tossed it into Marlowe's lap.

Momentarily perplexed, Marlowe looked down to examine the soft but fleshy lump before raising startled eyes to look into Amelia's wry face.

"What the fuck, Tía?"

* * *

 **Glossary** :

 **Tía** : Aunt

 **Maldita** : Damn (used as an expletive).

 **Aye Dios mio** : Oh my God.

 **Mi hijita querida** : my beloved (or darling) little girl (daughter).

 **Por fin regresaste a tu casa** : You've come home at last.

 **¿De verdad, querida** **?** : Is that true?

 **C** **abrona** : bitch


	2. Chapter 2

 

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sons of Anarchy. I do, however, own Marlowe and any other OCs that appear in the Two Sons Universe.**

* * *

_**Bakersfield, CA – Friday, February 6, 2009** _

Marlowe was on the floor, using an old-fashioned wooden brush with hard bristles to vigorously scrub the tiles in Amelia's kitchen. Back when she had been growing up, Marlowe would have considered such a task punishment for one of her usual misdeeds, such as fighting in school or talking back to teachers. Nowadays, she had to admit that the mindless repetitiveness of hard, menial work had therapeutic qualities which helped quiet the noise in her head. Strangely enough, it seemed to relax her.

 _Definitely seems to work better than Lexapro and Ativan_ , Marlowe thought as she dunked a rubber-gloved hand into the bucket of soapy water to rinse the scrub brush.

Although the temperature had made it into the mid-50s, there was a slight chill in the air. Marlowe barely noticed it, however, as the sun shone through the open windows and beat down on her back. The thorough cleaning she was in the midst of giving the floor was causing her to sweat, so she had pulled her long and wavy light caramel-colored hair into a messy top knot. Not only did the unflattering up-do keep the hair from sticking to her face as she worked, but it also exposed her long and graceful neck to the breeze. She had already stripped down to a fitted black tank top, but that had done nothing except draw attention to her ripped biceps and the half-sleeve tattoo of an intricate portrait of Bettie Page on her upper left arm. Wearing a pair of army green cargo shorts and her ever-present combat boots, Marlowe's calf muscles strained with little effort as she crouched on her haunches, bending over to reach a particularly difficult corner near the stove.

The very familiar task she was performing brought back old but vivid memories of the skinny and undefined teenager on the cusp of womanhood she had been and who hated Amelia's kitchen floor with a passion. Looking at it now, the collection of small yellow and light blue tiles was actually quite beautiful but, for a clean freak like Amelia Lowman, woefully impractical as it was almost impossible to keep the dirt from accumulating in the grooves separating the tiles by mopping alone. Those thin white lines of tile caulking had been the bane of her teenaged existence as every few weeks Marlowe had to get down on her hands and knees and scrub them back into their pristine condition. She remembered grumbling angrily a lot under her breath and behind Amelia's back about how she was violating California's child labor laws. In hindsight, Marlowe was truly grateful to have learned early on that being truly tired and fatigued at the end of a long day meant you have given your all in doing a job well-done. She had also learned—the hard way—that not having to re-scrub the tiles with a damn toothbrush was worth the effort of doing the job right the first time around.

 _I'm sure Tía would have made one hell of a drill sergeant_ , Marlowe smirked to herself.

For the last few weeks, Marlowe had been burning off excess energy by cleaning and making what repairs she could to Amelia's home. The older woman had OCD-like tendencies when it came to cleanliness and order, so the house had been for the most part immaculate. But with Amelia's failing health, she had allowed certain tasks to accumulate until she was feeling better, which hardly ever happened on the regular anymore. Marlowe had been more than happy to volunteer her services and pick up the slack. After all, it was the least she could do for the woman who had gone out of her way to help an often neglected and unwanted child, one of many that lived in the poor working class neighborhood.

No amount of work around the house could ease her troubled heart, however, as she felt the now-familiar twinge of guilt in the pit of her stomach whenever she thought about Amelia being sick. Although she had not been aware of the illness Tía had been fighting for two years, it wasn't like Marlowe could have done anything to help if she had. After a long and emotionally draining talk the week before, Amelia understood the reasons that had kept her away. Even if Marlowe had not seen fit to tell her what she had been up to the last two years, Amelia wasn't the type to hold a grudge. The epitome of the stubborn and proud Latin woman, Amelia would have been hard pressed to share this burden with her loved ones anyway. She was all about taking care of herself and dealing with shit on her own. Fortunately, with Happy for a son, dealing with breast cancer all alone was not an option. At the moment, that was about the only good thing Marlowe would allow herself to say about the only man that had ever been a constant in her life, whom she loved and hated with equal fervor since she was a little girl.

Instead, just like many other times during the last few weeks, whenever her mind wandered to thoughts of Happy, Marlowe would quickly shut that nonsense down and think of something else. Now, as she moved to work on the other corner of the floor next to the stove, Marlowe started rehashing in her mind's eye her first night home. Sitting at the table, she had stupidly stared at the lump of silicone in the shape of a well-defined breast—nipple and all—that Tía had so casually tossed into her lap.

"What the fuck, Tía? You had a mastectomy?!"

Amelia threw her hands up. "It was either cut it off or die with my still-decent ta-tas at the ripe old age of 68," she cracked a smile as she shrugged her shoulders offhandedly. "Hija, I may have been vain when I was younger—and with good reason, mind you—but even I know that looks aren't everything."

A bat to the face would not have hit Marlowe as hard as when she sat and listened with varying degrees of emotion crossing her face as Amelia detailed the extent of her illness over the last two years.

"It was back in 2007 when the pain in my right arm and shoulder started. At first, I didn't give it much thought because you know how physical working in a hospital can be at times. I just assumed I had pulled something when lifting or moving shit around. Soon, it seemed that I was always in pain and sometimes I couldn't even lift my arm. I had called in sick a few times and my supervisor at work got on my case about seeing a doctor, but I never got around to it," Amelia explained. "Then one day, I was taking a shower and I found a lump the size of a marble in my armpit. To tell you the truth, I probably would have ignored it too if I didn't scream in pain every time I pressed on it. By the time my doctor gave me the news, I had already resigned myself to it. Then at the same time, this little bastard decides to start acting up again." She reached down to massage her right knee. "It was hard enough getting around with a bum knee. Add chemo to the mix and it was a miserable experience. It was all for nothing too because the cancer was too aggressive at that point. I was in danger of having it spread to my lymph nodes. If that happened, I would be well and truly fucked—the doctor's words, not mine, so we decided that the best treatment would be to cut it off. That was seven months ago."

Unfortunately, Marlowe learned, there had been complications and several months ago Amelia had ended up in a hospice. "It was a little touch and go for a while and I really thought I was about to check out, but I started improving. It was slow going at first, but things started to turn right side up for me and my boy did his part to keep me going."

She had been released from the hospice less than a month before, but it would be a long time before Amelia could return to work. Even if she managed to have knee surgery, her doctor had recommended that she consider retiring, despite Amelia's insistence on returning to work once her cancer was fully in remission. Marlowe's heart had sunk in her chest as Amelia recounted her situation. The knowledge that she hadn't been there when she could have been useful made her feel even more ashamed of herself, and she hadn't thought that was possible. Knowing that the asshole had stepped up was only of small comfort to her, at best.

"Well," Marlowe had managed to smile despite the massive lump in her throat. "I'm here now and if you don't mind putting me up for a while, maybe I can help fatten you up a little and take care of some shit around the house while I figure out what I'm doing next."

Amelia had arched an eyebrow. "You are always welcome home, Marley, but I'm not looking for a caretaker," she said cautiously.

"I never said you were," Marlowe placated her gently, "but is it such a crime for me to worry about the cooking and cleaning while you rest up and recoup your strength?"

"I guess it's not a crime, hija," Amelia laughed, "and I appreciate the offer, but making coffee is as far as you go. I don't like anyone but me using my stove."

In spite of the late hour, they had enjoyed another cup of espresso as Marlowe managed to steer the conversation away from herself by quizzing Amelia on the latest neighborhood gossip and what her sister Ceci had been up to lately. After, Marlowe quickly restored Amelia's kitchen back to its pristine state and went out to her car to retrieve her one bag containing all her worldly possessions. As Marlowe started making her way towards the back of the house to her old room, Amelia stopped her and insisted that she use the third bedroom instead. "I'm afraid that your room has become something of a storage unit for Happy's crap, crates and boxes of shit. You can use his room for now."

And so Marlowe was making do with the room, which was still pretty much how she remembered it. Sparse and testosterone-filled, it wasn't anything Marlowe wasn't used to. The bed was comfortable and there was just enough drawer space for her belongings. It also had its own en suite bathroom and even though the shower stall was tiny, the water pressure and temperature were just perfect. After a long, relaxing shower, Marlowe had bedded down for what she knew would be another sleepless night. She had spent what was left of that night staring at the stuccoed ceiling and making a mental list of what Amelia might need her to do, but was too proud to ask.

Hearing the now-familiar step-thump-swish of Amelia's cane as she practically dragged her right leg, Marlowe looked up and over her shoulder to see the older woman standing at the entryway into the kitchen. "Looks like you've put a shine on that floor."

"Yeah," Marlowe wiped the back of her hand across her forehead, "I'm almost done here. I'll head to the grocery store after I clean myself up a bit."

"No rush," Amelia assured her. "But do you think that old clunker of yours can make the trip?" she asked. In the last three weeks, the Escort had died on Marlowe twice for no apparent reason. At least no reason that Marlowe could decipher since she really couldn't afford taking it to a mechanic. "You should really consider replacing that heap of junk."

Marlowe chuckled, "That heap's all I can afford right now. I'm sure it'll make it, though."

"If that's the case, Marley, I also need you to swing by Vivica's. She's got some organic vegetables coming in today that I need to make sofrito," Amelia said.

"Vegetables?" Marlowe queried with a raised eyebrow. "She's no longer fencing electronics and shit?"

"Of course, she is. That's her bread and butter," Amelia replied, "but I'm not interested in any of her 'other merchandise'. Just her tomatoes, peppers and onions. She's been branching out quite a bit lately and is growing some of her own shit, fresher than what you can get at the supermarket. Speaking of which, don't go to that supermarket over in Casa Loma. I rather give my money to Frankie's Market on Maple. He cuts his meat fresh to order and I want to make us a nice dinner tonight, and then we can watch Jeopardy. Just let me go get my list and my purse."

Marlowe shook her head wryly as she watched Amelia schlep her way back to the living room.

"Dinner _and_ Alex Trebeck?" Marlowe mumbled under her breath. "That might be just too much excitement for me to handle in one night."

If only Marlowe knew the half of it.

* * *

Stepping out of the bathroom, Marlowe used a large towel to dry her hair as she sat down at the edge of the double bed. Wearing nothing but another oversized blue towel wrapped around her torso, she crossed her leg at the knee, mindlessly bouncing her bare foot up and down as she thought about the day's events.

As much as the neighborhood had stayed relatively the same, what changes it had undergone were somewhat radical. Driving around town for the last couple of weeks, Marlowe had quickly re-familiarized herself with the neighborhood of her childhood. Within a fifteen-block radius there was a mix of low to middle-income housing, apartment blocks, and housing projects. The houses on Amelia's block seemed to be representative of that mix as they varied widely from one to the next. The houses not only differed in size, but in their condition as well, with some newly renovated while others bordered on being one step above condemnable. Depending on what block you lived on or even on what side of the street your house was located, life was either lived in simple comfort or abject squalor.

Amelia's house, elegant in its clean simplicity, was only a couple of blocks away from the house where Marlowe had grown up in extreme poverty.

Marlowe couldn't figure out what had possessed her to drive by that house today, but she suddenly found herself turning left when she should have turned right in order to do her grocery shopping. In a few minutes, she was parked in front of the home she had lived in on and off until she was 10 and had permanently moved in with Amelia.

Marlowe had been somewhat surprised to see that it was looking far better than it ever did when she had lived there so many years ago. The house had once been dilapidated with holes in the roof that let the rain in, causing the walls of her bedroom to grow mold. Now it seemed that its current owners had made many improvements, including a new roof, fixing the cracks in the foundation, and replacing the dirty and broken fence that had surrounded the once ugly gray house. Marlowe wondered about the family that lived there now and hoped that they were enjoying a much happier life than the one she'd had when she lived there with her mother.

At that moment, it dawned on Marlowe that she hadn't thought about her mother in well over five years, the last time being when she got the news that Shannon Guthrie had died destitute and alone at 45. It had come as a surprise to no one and Marlowe had no tears to spare for the woman who had been unwilling to help herself for the sake of her own daughter.

Once again pushing thoughts of her mother to the darkest recess of her mind, Marlowe instead concentrated on examining the now beautifully kept property with its neat front yard and the two child-sized bikes chained to a pole underneath the carport.

Unlike many of the unwanted or neglected children she had grown up with in the neighborhood, Marlowe had been lucky to have a halfway decent childhood with Amelia and the asshole. Marlowe smirked to herself, grateful that the medication she was on made it nearly impossible to cry even if she wanted to. Unwilling to put her meds to the test by thinking of Amelia's pride and joy, Marlowe turned her rust bucket around and made her way to Vivica Bradley's house.

Walking through the arched entrance way, she spotted the Haitian-born woman. Vivica was sitting on a patio-style chair on her semi-enclosed porch that overlooked the garden that stretched out on both sides of the walkway of the reasonably attractive and clean home. But before Marlowe could make her way up the walk, she suddenly found her path blocked.

"You got business here, white girl?" a rather large man, his skin the color of deep, rich dark chocolate, a basketball-sized belly and gleaming corn rows, asked belligerently.

Unperturbed, Marlowe casually eyed him up and down. Although he was massive in size, she quickly noted that all of his weight was from fat, not muscle. Marlowe straightened her shoulders, a hint of a smile on her face. If push came to shove, she could definitely take him. After all, she had taken him on once before, a long, long time ago, and won.

"Yeah, I got business. _With her_ ," Marlowe replied irritably as she pointed at the woman on the porch, "so you might wanna consider getting out of my face before I make _you_ my business as well."

"Lutha! What the hell you doin'?" The woman's voice was musical. The accent was definitely French but with Caribbean overtones as well as a healthy dose of street attitude.

"I'm just handling shit, Ma," Luther replied, keeping his eyes on the tall, but slender woman in front of him, rolling to the balls of his feet in anticipation of a physical confrontation.

"Sheet, boi! The last time you tried _handling_ that bit o' business, she kicked your balls up into your throat. Now leave Miss Amelia's girl alone and let her come up and see me."

Luther's dark eyebrows shot up into his corn rows. " _Marley_? That you girl?" he said with disbelief.

"It be me," Marlowe nodded, allowing herself a huge smile. "How's it hanging, Luther?"

"Damn, girl! You know how it be, same old shit, different day," he replied, a slow even grin spreading across his face. "Haven't seen you in a minute."

"I've been away. How's Vandross?"

"He a'ight," Luther started, but was quickly interrupted by his mother.

"Lutha! Stop your jawin' and go see about that shit you need to see about," Vivica ordered. "You got business to tend to, so you best be about it before I have to slap some sense into that cat brain of yours," her amber-colored eyes flashed with a warning.

"Yeah, Ma, a'ight!" he said in a somewhat irritated tone as he moved out of Marlowe's way. "See ya around?"

"You might." Marlowe made her way up the steps and when offered, parked herself in the chair next to Vivica's. "I'm surprised you remembered me."

The woman shrugged as she continued to shell pea pods into the large plastic bowl on her lap. "My brain and my eyes are as good as they ever was, girl. You filled out some, but you still look the same, like your Mama before you. Been a long time since you were around these parts."

"Yeah," Marlowe nodded. "It has been."

"You just passing through?" Vivica inquired, her fingers flying as she fixed her eyes on the young woman sitting next to her.

"I'm thinking about staying for a while."

"Taking time off? I thought that career of yours kept you pretty busy. On the move all da time," Vivica commented.

Marlowe shrugged her shoulders. "Not any more. Cut that shit loose a while ago," she admitted candidly.

"Really?" Vivica raised an arched eyebrow. "You were doing that shit a long time, girl. Why you stop?"

"Let's just say I didn't really have much of a choice in the matter."

Vivica nodded sagely. "I see. You looking for work?"

"Not really."

Vivica smiled, not at all surprised that Marlowe was a woman of few words, just like her stepbrother. "Good. I know Amelia hasn't been well lately. It'll be good for her to have you around. And if I know her, I know you just didn't drop by to catch up on some old times." She stood up.

Marlowe stood up as well and pulled a crumpled list from the pocket of her jeans. "I understand you have some fresh organic veggies just lying around."

"Fresh right off the truck they fell off of." Vivica gave her a wicked smile. "Follow me to the back and let this Nubian Goddess hook you up."

* * *

Marlowe had spent the rest of the afternoon picking through the crated vegetables in Vivica's backyard before making her way down to Frankie's Market. Unlike the bigger supermarkets in the area, Frankie carried Amelia's favorite Cuban products. As Frankie rang her purchases up, Marlowe watched as Esteban, Frankie's brother, cut several lean pork chops fresh off the rack just the way he knew Amelia liked.

Once back home, she and Amelia had spent the rest of the afternoon in the kitchen, laughing and talking as they prepared dinner together. Amelia had even pulled out a bottle of homemade wine that Mrs. Esperanza from down the block had given her, but that she had been saving for a special occasion. Relaxing her self-imposed restriction on alcohol, Marlowe was able to down only half a glass of the sweet but potent wine as they enjoyed the grilled pork chops marinated in citrus juice and garlic and black beans and rice. Shooing Amelia out of the kitchen, Marlowe cleaned up before heading to the living room to watch _Jeopardy_ , _Wheel of Fortune_ , and a couple of telenovelas before Amelia decided to turn in for the night.

Not wanting to impose on the strong-willed woman's sense of independence, Marlowe quietly sat against the wall right outside Amelia's room, her ear open for any sign of distress. Once she had made sure that Tía didn't fall down in the bath tub, Marlowe had finally retreated, sure that Amelia was firmly settled in her bed. Going through her now-routine security check of the house and making sure all the doors and windows were locked, Marlowe finally made her way back to her room and a richly deserved shower.

Marlowe hated nights. She had hoped that once she moved back in with Amelia her sleep habits would return to something approaching normal. That, unfortunately, had not happened with Marlowe still sleeping an average of two to three hours a night. _If_ she was lucky. Today, however, had been particularly exhausting and she had hoped that her eyelids would at least start feeling heavy by now. Although she was physically tired, Marlowe was wide awake and decided to set herself up in the living room to channel surf and wait for sleepiness to creep in.

About to grab an oversized t-shirt to throw on, Marlowe's ears suddenly perked. It was faint and she was glad she had left her door slightly ajar or she may have not heard the sound of stealthy movement coming from the front of the house until it was too late. With her instincts and training kicking in, Marlowe quietly crept closer to the door and listened. She had no doubt now. There was definitely someone creeping around on the porch.

Not wasting time to throw on her discarded clothes that were folded into a neat pile on a chair, she secured the towel around herself and bent down to retrieve the sawed off shotgun she had found in Happy's closet. She was now very glad she had it and that she had taken the time to disassemble and give it a thorough cleaning before loading it and placing it and a box of shells under her bed. At the time, Marlowe had thought that she was being overly cautious because, even though it hadn't changed all that much, the neighborhood was relatively safe. But being more accustomed to sleeping with a weapon within reach than not, Marlowe thought that it was always better to be safe than sorry. She made a mental note to never doubt her paranoid sense of self-preservation again as it now appeared that some low life piece of scum was trying to break into an old woman's home.

Grabbing a leather sheath from her bedside table containing a six-inch KA-BAR, Marlowe quickly strapped it to her bare thigh. Picking the shotgun up from the bed, she flipped off the light switch so that the room was enveloped in darkness, making it possible for her to slide into the hallway unseen. With her back completely flat against the wall opposite Amelia's room, Marlowe could only hope that Tía was sleeping soundly enough that she wouldn't wake up at the wrong moment. The last thing she needed was the older woman in the midst of this impromptu shit storm.

 _Shit! The fucker's definitely in the house,_ Marlowe realized as she heard the front door close quietly behind the intruder. How he had managed to get inside without making a sound was something Marlowe would have to determine later. Right now, she needed to kick his ass.

Glad that the prick had decided to hit the house _after_ she had moved in, Marlowe held the shotgun diagonally across her towel-covered chest and carefully maneuvered herself down the short hall, avoiding the boards she knew were creaky. Reaching the end of the hallway, she slowly peeked around the corner and with her eyes accustomed to the darkness, spotted him easily. Taking a quick inventory, Marlowe estimated that he was at least 6'2 and 180-190 pounds and he was carrying what looked like a backpack casually slung over one shoulder.

 _Probably to stuff with whatever valuables he could find_ , Marlowe narrowed her eyes angrily.

Although it appeared he was wearing an oversized hoodie, she could tell from the set of his shoulders and his outline that he was built. Too bad Amelia had closed the living room drapes or she might have been able to get a better look at him with some moonlight. Still, she could tell he either had short or closely cropped hair and, taking a deep but quiet sniff of the air, that he was a smoker.

 _The time for evaluating the sitch is over_ , Marlowe coached herself grimly. _It's t_ _ime to deal with this fuckin' loser_.

Quietly sliding up behind him, Marlowe was about to announce herself when suddenly, the man whirled out, swinging the heavy bag straight at her.

 _Fuck!_ Marlowe inwardly screamed as she narrowly avoided the bag, the breeze of it slicing the air ruffling her damp hair as she ducked out of its way.

Holding the shotgun in front of her, one hand on the barrel and the other on the trigger, Marlowe wasn't prepared as the bag came whipping back from the opposite direction. It slammed into her arm, sending the shotgun spinning out of her grasp and landing somewhere on the carpeted floor of the dark room with a soft thud. Quickly crouching onto her haunches, Marlowe lashed out with her bare foot and wrapped it around the intruder's ankle. Tugging her leg back viciously, the man toppled over—

And landed right on top of her!

Grunting quietly under their breaths, the two rolled around on the floor, knocking into furniture. Grateful that her assailant was at least being quiet as he tried to overpower her, Marlowe suddenly heard a vase bounce on the carpet only to crash land on the hardwood floor of the hallway. Knowing that it would only be a matter of time before Amelia came out to investigate what had made that noise, Marlowe frantically tried to wriggle her way out of the intruder's iron clad grip to no avail. Pushing at him with her hip, she finally managed to get a solid blow into his solar plexus with her elbow, causing a whoosh of air out of the man's lungs.

She felt his grip loosen and even though Marlowe reasoned that she still had her knife strapped to her thigh, using it would require her getting close enough that he might overpower her again. Instead, she scrabbled away until she felt her hand close around the barrel of the shotgun. Flipping onto her back, Marlowe pumped a round into the chamber and aimed it at the intruder who had somehow managed to stumble onto his feet.

"Make a move, asshole," Marlowe taunted in a triumphant whisper, "if a belly full of lead is what you came here for."

It was her training that kept her from letting the weapon fall out of her grasp as she recoiled in shock when the gravelly voice spoke into the darkness. "Little girl, put that shit down before I take it from you and shove it straight up your ass."

_What the fuckin' fuck?!_

Leaping to her feet, Marlowe ran to the wall light and slapped a hand over it, instantly flooding the living room with light. As her eyes confirmed what her ears had heard, she opened her mouth and cut loose on the tall, bald-headed and muscular man staring holes into her with his angry black orbs.

"Shit a fuckin' brick, asshole! Can't you ring the fuckin' bell like a fuckin' human being? I almost blew your frickin' head off!"

"That wasn't gonna happen, Marley, especially since you lost your grip on the fuckin' gun," Happy Lowman crossed his arms over his chest. "And that's not the only thing you lost either, by the way." He let his intense dark gaze rove up and down Marlowe's naked body.

"Shit!" Marlowe swore loudly, almost stamping her foot down in frustration, as she looked down and saw the blue towel lying on the carpeted floor.

"Hija! While this is certainly an interesting reunion, maybe it would be better if you put some clothes on, no?" Amelia frowned severely as she watched her son and surrogate daughter exchange dirty looks. "Then maybe you can tell me why you attacked Kique."

"Me?! _Me_?!" Marlowe yelped indignantly. "He's the one that started this shit!" Bending over, she snatched up the towel and wrapped it around herself. "And you wonder why I haven't spoken to him in over ten years. Because once an asshole, always an asshole, that's why!" she said angrily as she stormed off towards her bedroom and slammed the door behind her.

"I could say it's good to see that she ain't changed a damn bit," Happy growled as he stalked to the bathroom, "but why fuckin' lie?" Stopping briefly, he bent over to kiss his mother on her forehead before he continued stomping a path down the hall.

* * *

**Glossary**

**Kique:** Shortened form of Enrique


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sons of Anarchy. I do, however, own Marlowe and any other OCs that appear in the Two Sons Universe.**

* * *

_**Bakersfield, CA – Saturday, February 7, 2009** _

Sitting silently in her favorite armchair, Amelia Lowman watched as her son slept. Stretched out on the comfortable but worn sofa, his left arm lay across his eyes and his right arm was draped over his bare and muscled torso. The blanket and sheet she had pulled out for him the night before were now resting on the carpet in a tangled heap.

The contents of his pockets were resting on the coffee table directly in front of the sofa, including the black leather wallet she had given him more than ten years ago, a set of keys, a half-empty pack of cigarettes and a sterling silver Zippo embossed with a fiercely grinning Reaper, the logo of the MC he had belonged to for nearly twenty years. A pair of sunglasses and leather gloves were lying on what was probably his most-prized possession—his neatly folded leather kutte.

His second most-prized possession (or more than likely third, after his bike) was within arm's reach. The gleaming black Glock was lying directly parallel with his right hand on the coffee table, Amelia was sure, for lightning fast access should the need arise. A saddlebag was draped neatly over the armrest at the far end of the couch.

Letting her eyes travel the length of his bare torso, Amelia smiled wryly. Her son's love of tattoos had been an interest of his long before he had joined the Club. She had hoped that his love for drawing would have inspired him to pursue a career that would get him away from the streets—a graphic artist, or maybe even an architect. Although incredibly smart and focused when he wanted to be, Happy had held firm to the belief that a white collar life wasn't for him.

Instead, he spent much of his time running the streets and getting into trouble, never losing his love for drawing and sketching. At fifteen and behind her back, Happy had gotten his first tattoo from a man who would later go on to mentor him in the art while he learned his new trade on the job. Against her better judgment and the examples set by her and Celia, he dropped out of high school and started working full-time as a tattoo artist. Happy may have not been creating art in the classical sense, but he was making good money and, more importantly, it kept him off the streets.

So it was ironic that the incident that would eventually lead to him crossing paths with the Sons of Anarchy had occurred on the job and all because, instead of heading straight home after work one night, Amelia had decided to visit her son at his job at the tattoo parlor.

Unfortunately, coming to the defense of his mother had netted Happy an attempted murder charge and a five-month stay in Chino while he awaited trial. Although he was ultimately acquitted, irreparable damage had been done to her son as far as Amelia was concerned. Several members of the Club he now belonged to had taken Happy into their protection during those five months and according to him, for the first time in his life he felt like he belonged and cared for something greater than himself: the MC brotherhood.

Amelia remembered like it was yesterday the day her son had come home with the news that he had "patched in". In addition to the leather he now wore permanently on his back, he had inked into the skin around his collar bone a tattoo that read **I Live, I Die, I Kill for My Family**. It was as much a statement of his commitment to the band of outlaws he now called his family as it was to his own flesh and blood.

"You gonna sit there and stare at me all morning, Ma?" Happy's voice, raspy from sleep, echoed in the living room.

Amelia started as she realized that she had let herself drift away with her memories and that her son's eyes, squinting through narrowed slits, were focused on her. "I wasn't planning on it," she quipped. "You gonna lie about like a slug all morning?"

"I wasn't planning on it either." Propelling himself up into a sitting position, Happy stretched his arms up and out, his taut powerful frame bulging with muscles. Running a large hand over his bald head, Happy frowned as he felt the scratchiness of new stubble that matched the whiskers on his chin.

"Look at you, frowning over a little hair. You know, there are a lot of men who would happily switch places with you if it meant having a full head of hair at 43. But no," Amelia shook her head with a smirk. "For you to be happy, your head must resemble a baby's ass."

"Because that's the way I like it, Ma," Happy replied archly.

"And hiding the gray is just a side benefit, right?" Amelia teased.

Happy cocked his head and gave his mother a blank look. "I haven't seen you in a couple of weeks and all you gonna do is sit there and bust my balls?"

"And why not?" Amelia replied a little jauntily. She always felt a little frisky in her son's presence, not so tired and wilted like she always seemed to feel. "After all, I am half responsible for that beautiful head of thick black hair you had once upon a time. All the girls around the block were crazy about you because of it. Now you walk around all the time looking like a brown Skinhead," she continued to scold as she eyed him. "Nothing like mi bebecito."

Happy eyed the only woman who he had ever truly loved and would allow to call him her 'little baby'. "Ma, I'm a grown ass man," he started irritably, "and I like my shit the way I wear it, so stop nagging."

"I don't nag," his mother said as Happy barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes. "I'm just saying."

"Well, stop saying it, Ma because I'm not gonna change."

"No, I don't suppose you will." Amelia got up slowly and made her way to the windows to draw the curtains. The sun was shining brightly, illuminating the room, and she noted her son's bike parked at the curb. "Still riding that thing, huh?"

"I wouldn't ride anything else." Turning to his mother, Happy let his eyes travel up and down his mother's form. Although the expression on his face didn't change, he didn't like what he was seeing.

_Ceci was right. Ma is worn out._

Celia Lopez, his aunt and Amelia's younger sister, was not a woman that beat around the bush. When she didn't like something, Celia was not shy about voicing her honest opinion. So when the woman he considered a second mother said that her sister was being hardheaded and taking unnecessary risks with her health, Happy listened. In spite of all the current shit the Club was dealing with in Charming, Happy had wasted no time making the 3½-hour ride to come check on his vieja.

Now, as he watched his mother moving slowly about the room, a part of him was angry at her for looking so weak and frail, for not being the invincible superwoman she had been his entire life.

"Well, _are_ _you_ gonna stare at me all morning?" Amelia quipped, "I can assure you, I'm not getting any prettier."

Quelling the desire to jump down his mother's throat for her current predicament, a situation not of her own making, Happy decided to take another tack. "I'd rather you tell me how long Marley's been here."

"If I'm going to talk about that, I'm gonna need coffee, and lots of it," his mother replied and, turning slowly, headed for the kitchen. "Well, don't just sit there with your thumb up your ass, hijo," Amelia said easily. "Go take a shower while I get breakfast ready."

Rolling his eyes, Happy stood up and grabbed his saddlebag.

_Something tells me I'm going to need a hell of a lot more than food in my gut before I can tackle the subject of Marlowe._

* * *

Having showered and taken the time to shave the stubble on both his head and his face, Happy had made his way to the kitchen. Now comfortably stretched out in his favorite chair, he watched his mother chop red peppers and mushrooms for his favorite breakfast as she softly sang along with the Salsa music playing on a small radio on the kitchen counter.

Taking a sip of the strong, sweet coffee that she had prepared for him just the way he liked it, Happy contemplated the woman standing in front of him. As rough as her life had been ever since he could remember, Happy couldn't understand why it seemed his mother always got the shitty end of the fuckin' stick.

Along with her parents and little sister, Amelia Lopez had immigrated to the United States several years after the 1953 Cuban Revolution had begun, but before Fidel Castro had finally succeeded in ousting Cuba's President Fulgencio Batista in 1959. Back home, her father had been a doctor and her mother an academic who taught Philosophy at the University of Havana. In their new home in Miami, however, her father supported his family by washing dishes at the Fontainebleau Hotel while her mother cleaned the summer homes of wealthy out-of-towners.

Several months before Amelia turned 17, both her parents were killed when a tractor-trailer T-boned their Oldsmobile. Although his mother never complained, from what Ceci had told him, Happy knew that life for the newly-orphaned girls must have been difficult as they were passed along to a variety of relatives they had barely known to begin with.

Although English had not been their first language, both Amelia and Celia had gone on to succeed academically with his mother eventually getting a nursing degree and Celia becoming a teacher. By the time Amelia was 28, however, she was a widow living alone with a young son to raise. Happy always saw his mother as being a strong, forceful presence in his life, so her unexpected illness had knocked him on his ass. But soon, he was back on his feet, doing what needed to be done to make sure she got the best care money could buy.

Needless to say, after suffering the fear of losing his mother silently and after all the pain and difficulties she had experienced during her battle against cancer, to hear that his mother was playing fast and loose with her health pissed Happy off. Like a lot.

Now, as he sat at the kitchen table watching her puttering about making breakfast, he could see that his mother had aged significantly. Being in her late-sixties, that was to be expected but had been something Happy had not really wanted to acknowledge, especially now. Once again pushing thoughts of dealing with his mother's mortality to the wayside for now, Happy decided that it was time to tackle the other elephant in the room instead.

"So you wanna tell me why you didn't mention that Marley had come home the last time I called?" Happy asked gruffly.

"Probably because I figured your stubborn ass would give me grief about it if I did." Having sautéed the vegetables, Amelia added them to the egg mixture in the large casserole dish before placing it in the oven. She then lowered the heat under the pan containing thinly sliced chorizo and turned to face her son. "With Marley I know you think you've earned the right to vocalize your displeasure with her for daring to know her own mind, but don't you think that after ten years you should give that shit a rest?"

"That would make too much sense, Tía. But then again, maybe his little cave man brain is incapable of something like common sense," Marlowe replied as she sauntered into the kitchen and leveled Happy with an angry glare that made her gray eyes look like two hard, shiny marbles. "If that's the case, then it's technically not his fault."

Stopping about four feet from where Happy sat at the table, Marlowe folded her arms across her chest. Happy barely reacted to what he considered a slight annoyance and continued sipping his cup of coffee.

The not-so-subtle snub further incensed Marlowe, causing her lip to curl into a snarl. "Do you even realize how close you came to dying last night?"

"Not even close, little girl," Happy chuckled mirthlessly only because he knew it would piss her off. "I mean, there was little power behind _some_ of the blows you managed to land, but you obviously forgot everything I taught you while in the Army 'cause you couldn't hold onto your gun for shit." He leaned back in his chair to better watch Marlowe's reaction to his taunting.

"I was in the _Navy_ , asshole, not the Army," Marlowe corrected through gritted teeth.

Happy shrugged his shoulders. "Even worse. The pansy-ass Navy. Do they even _have_ guns?"

"I wasn't the one with a high-powered shotgun aimed at my belly, was I?" Marlowe said sweetly as she pulled out a chair and straddled it. "I can understand if you forgot about that, though. After all, they say memory's the first thing to go when you start getting _old_. That or your noodle starts going limp," she continued as she reached for the pitcher of juice that Amelia had put on the table and poured herself a glass. "By the way, you hit like a fuckin' girl. Some O.J.?" she offered with a sweet smile to goad him on.

Almost rising to the bait, Happy paused to run his hand over his smooth chin. "I ain't _never_ hit like a girl in my fuckin' life," he retorted in a low growl. "I pulled my punches because I didn't want to kill a bitch."

Marlowe rolled her eyes and sniffed. "Yeah, like that could ever happen."

"I'm starting to wish I fuckin' had," Happy said angrily. "You know, I almost forgot what a mouthy little bitch you can be. Thanks for reminding me."

"Then, by all means, let me remind you some more," Marlowe retorted sarcastically. "You're just pissed because I'm not like one of your biker bitches, ready to sit up and eat your shit with a spoon and a smile. Unlike _them_ , I know how to wipe my own ass and can make my own fuckin' decisions without having to ask YOU for permission."

"At least those bitches are smart enough to know when they have it good. Did it ever dawn on you that maybe if you did what you were told every once in a while you would have had an easier life?" Happy growled bitterly.

"That's all it boils down to, isn't it? You being in control? In your mind, I was nothing but a stray mutt you picked up off the street that should have licked your boots in gratitude and did everything it was told without question. I'm so sorry I disappointed you by thinking I had the right to do what I wanted with MY LIFE!" Marlowe bellowed.

Happy started beating his fist against his head. It was that or shoot her in the face with his fuckin' Glock and, to his mind, that was starting to sound like a good idea.

"Are you even fuckin' listening to yourself? Shit! I never thought it possible for a bitch not to listen even when she's the one doing the talking!" Happy groused. "You're just like your mother."

Marlowe stiffened, her eyes softening from angry to hurt. "After ten years of not speaking to me because I went against your wishes, and you're gonna bring my _mommy_ into this?" Her voice was low, but Amelia—who had resolved to let the two work their shit out on their own—could hear the anguish behind Marlowe's words and turned to face the pair sitting at the table. Marlowe crossed her arms, her mask of defiance firmly back in place. "Shit, I must have gotten my brains from my father because my mother was definitely a stupid bitch for sleeping with you for all those years."

"BASTA!" Amelia suddenly shouted as she slammed a hot casserole dish and a plate of Spanish sausage on the large trivet on the table. She followed up by slamming a large, warm plate in front of Marlowe and another in front of Happy. "Until you two can speak without being evil to each other, I want you to shut the hell up and eat what I put on this table before _I_ lose my shit."

Seeing his mother's angry face, Happy swallowed the bitter retort that was on the tip of his tongue. Without further comment, he dished himself up a large helping of the breakfast casserole and chorizo and started shoving the extremely hot food into his mouth. His favorite meal burned his tongue and the roof of his mouth and soured as soon as it hit his roiling stomach.

_I owe Ceci an ass-reaming for not warning me that Marley was here when she called._

Aside from the clinking of silverware on dishes, the kitchen was eerily silent as the trio sat and quietly ate their meal. Brooding, Marlowe did less eating and more pushing of the food around on her plate, her arm feeling sluggish. Unable to fall asleep easily to begin with, having faced-off with an intruder only to discover that it was Happy had not helped her insomnia at all. Instead, Marlowe had tossed and turned even more than usual as she thought about the man who had been both friend and brother to her for as long as she could remember.

Peeking through her thick eyelashes, Marlowe had to admit that Happy looked good despite the fact that he had a decade on him. He still kept himself fit and had moved with the speed and agility of a much younger man as they tussled about. The only real sign that he had aged at all were the gray hairs she had spotted in the stubble of his beard, which did nothing to detract from the fact that he was still as handsome as he ever was.

 _Cocky bastard probably has all the bitches down at whatever charter he's with now on rotation and ready to go down on him at a moment's notice_ , she thought with a little amusement to her surprise.

As a grown woman, she could definitely appreciate his rugged sexiness even though she still preferred her men a little more on the pretty side. Growing up, however, Marlowe had loved and had looked up to Happy, never even entertaining the thought of having a crush on him.

Marlowe had been a child when Happy had started coming around to hook up with her mother. At the time, even though at 29 she was older than Happy by five years, Shannon Guthrie had been a stunner, even more so when she wasn't boozing and doing drugs. According to her mother, drinking was just one of the hazards of her job down at Nasty Boots, a strip club a few miles outside of Bakersfield on I-99. The club catered mostly to the biker and trucker crowd and Shannon had made a halfway decent living stripping. That is, when she didn't spend her entire paycheck at the bar or shooting up.

Marlowe remembered the first time she met Happy. The fact that Shannon had the habit of bringing men home with her after work meant that Marlowe hadn't batted an eyelash when Happy had crawled out of her mother's bedroom and into the living room. She had been sitting on a dilapidated couch with mismatched cushions watching TV. Judging by the look on his face when he saw Marlowe, it had come as somewhat of a surprise to discover that the awesome lay he had enjoyed the night before had a kid.

Although she remembered being afraid of the tall man with a variety of scary tattoos littered all over his torso and arms, Marlowe's curiosity had gotten the better of her and she quickly struck up a conversation with him.

Even back then Happy hadn't been much of a talker, so it had been more like a one-sided conversation on her part, but at least he hadn't told her to shut the fuck up. His short and terse responses did nothing to deter the chatty little girl in desperate need of attention.

Over the months that followed, Happy had become a regular visitor to the house and through one of their conversations—that Happy would later label as "interrogations"—Marlowe soon discovered that he too lived in the neighborhood. He had mentioned his mother several times and only in passing, but with her keen eye for people, it didn't take Marlowe long to figure out who Amelia Lowman was when she spotted her on the street or at the market. With Happy's relationship with Shannon on and off and none too serious, it was two years before Marlowe was introduced to Happy's mom.

Their initial meeting had not been under the most pleasant of circumstances, so Marlowe tried not to think much about the events of that day other than to acknowledge that was the day she had met her guardian angel. Showing up at Amelia's doorstep in the middle of the night seemed to be a habit of hers as that was how she had first met the woman. Happy had pulled Marlowe from the hellhole that should have been a home and, with very little by way of explanation, had thrust her onto his mother. Without asking questions, Amelia's gut reaction had been to embrace the scared little girl and, before Marlowe knew what hit her, she had been scrubbed and bedded down in a comfortable and clean-smelling bed in Happy's home.

For whatever reason, Marlowe soon found herself forever connected to two complete strangers whom felt the need and the desire to look out for her and care for her.

_And that's something I will never, ever be able to repay._

* * *

Marlowe looked up as Happy finally shoved aside his empty plate and made eye contact with her. Although he was no longer seething with anger, Marlowe tensed her shoulders and braced herself for the continuation of their very loud discussion. She was fully energized by the food she had managed to eat and was ready for another round, but once again Amelia interfered.

"So why did my boy feel it was necessary to show up here in the middle of the night? You could have called if you just wanted to check on me." Amelia crossed her arms as she eyed him suspiciously. "Did Ceci put you up to stopping by?"

Happy tossed the used napkin onto his plate after wiping his mouth and eyed his mother. "I don't need Ceci telling me how to handle my shit," he replied gruffly. "She _did_ call, but I was already heading down here when she did."

"Damn busy body is always sticking her nose into my shit," Amelia complained.

"Somebody needs to, especially when you're too damn stubborn to accept help when you need it," Happy argued.

"Hijo, I don't know what Blabbermouth has been telling you, but I don't need any help," she insisted stubbornly. "I'm perfectly fine here on my own. Besides, you know I don't like strange people in my house or in my business."

Marlowe quirked an eyebrow as her head bounced back and forth between mother and son. She was obviously out of the loop about something.

"I don't want to talk about my issues right now." Amelia jabbed a finger into her son's chest. "Why don't you tell me why you decided that late last night was a good time to come home for a visit?"

_Ma's just too intuitive for my own fuckin' good!_

With so much crap hitting the Club sideways, it seemed that there was simply no time to recover from one shit storm before another one blew in. Combining that with the worry Happy felt over his mother's health and it didn't make his situation any easier. It only worsened it knowing that he was about to drop another load of stress on her shoulders and it pissed him off.

Between the Club's impending incarceration because of Clay's failed attempt at retaliation against Ethan Zobelle, the revelation of Gemma's rape at the hands of Zobelle's white hate crew, the sadistic workings of an ATF agent that had forced Gemma on the lam, and Half Sack's murder and the kidnapping of Jax's boy both by the Club's RIRA contact, the mother charter just couldn't catch a fuckin' break.

But Happy loved his family and his Club was his family. He was prepared to do whatever needed to be done to protect and defend it. That loyalty to his brotherhood was what had brought him back to Bakersfield. He owed it to the most important woman in his life to prepare her for what was coming and to insist that she return the favor by doing whatever would give him the peace of mind he needed while he was away handling his shit.

Now that his mother was staring him in the face, Happy knew that he had to give her the shit straight, no chaser. "Ma, I'm going out of town for a while. On Club business," he started.

Amelia shrugged her frail shoulders. "You're always on the go with them. That's nothing new and that's not what has you sitting at my kitchen table. What else is going on?"

Happy looked her in the eye. "When I finish what I need to do, I'm going back inside for a while."

 _Shit Happy!_ Marlowe thought to herself. _What fuckin' lousy timing_!

"Let me guess—you got a bum rap, right?" Amelia deadpanned at her son's revelation.

"No," Happy shook his head. "They got me dead to rights this time. But if things work out the way they're supposed to, I'll only do short time, 14 months max."

"Aye Dios mio, Enrique!" Amelia lamented.

"Ma, there's no need to worry. I can handle my shit."

"If handling your shit means going back to prison, then yes. You are handling your shit extremely well, hijo," Amelia responded angrily. She knew the street was dangerous enough for her boy, but prison was far worse and Amelia knew she wouldn't be able to survive a broken heart if anything happened to her son. Taking a deep breath, she exhaled and that seemed to calm her down enough to continue. "And if things don't work out the way they're supposed to? How much time then? And don't try to soften the blow for me, hijo. Just spit it out, okay?"

Happy sighed. "Fifteen," he admitted.

Amelia shook her head. _Might as well be a life sentence_ , she thought sadly. That's exactly what fifteen years would be for her. "Shit, I'll be in a pine box before you get out."

"No you won't, Ma." Happy grabbed her hand and squeezed. "That's not gonna happen."

"Then your ass better make sure it doesn't." Amelia stood up. "Marley honey, please see to the kitchen. Suddenly I'm feeling very tired and I need to lie down."

Happy watched as his mother slowly made her way out of the kitchen and towards her bedroom. Waiting until he heard the door close firmly behind her, he then turned to Marlowe.

"We need to talk."

* * *

Sitting on one of the lawn chairs in the tiny backyard, Marlowe crossed her arms and eyed Happy who was similarly seated. With Amelia suddenly not feeling well, she hoped that Happy wasn't looking to restart their unfinished conversation. She knew she would probably be unable to rein in her temper and the last thing she wanted was to cause Amelia any more stress by having them at each other's throats again.

Apparently, Happy had the same thought, which was why he had pointed a thumb towards the kitchen's back door and had stomped outside without comment, clearly expecting her to follow him. Now as she sat waiting for him to give his excuses about his present set of circumstances, she was completely surprised when he sidestepped the issue.

"So when are you due back?"

Marlowe blinked once, then twice. "Back?" she replied stupidly. "Back _where_?"

"Back to your ship, base or wherever the fuck it is they put you Navy pansies on," Happy said with a little sneer in his tone.

_Count to ten, damn it. Breathe and count to ten before you take your knife out of your boot and stab him in the fuckin' eye!_

"I'm not going back," she said succinctly.

For a moment, the outlaw was nonplussed. "What does that mean, you ain't going back?"

Marlowe sighed. There was no way in hell she was getting into this shit with Happy. Not now, maybe not ever. The last thing she wanted to hear was a big "I fuckin' told you so." It had been hard enough sharing the gory details—the indignity of how it had ended for her and the fact that she was now on a shit load of medications to help her deal with it all—with Amelia.

_Just keep it vague and refuse to give up the deets. He hasn't spoken to me for ten long years, he certainly doesn't get the right to interrogate me now._

"I mean I quit." Again, for the second time in a row, Marlowe lied. "I was bored and needed a change of scenery, so I got out." As she saw the slight smirk start to creep onto his face, Marlowe threw up a hand. "If you don't want me to kill you and bury your body in Tía's flowerbed, you won't say shit to me right now," she warned. "I mean it, Hap."

 _I think she really does_ , Happy thought with some amusement.

"A'ight. I'll give you a pass. _For now_. But I ain't letting it slide forever."

With his unrelenting dark brown eyes trained on her, Marlowe knew that Happy meant what he said. But, hey, a reprieve was a reprieve and she wasn't going to look a gift horse in the fuckin' mouth.

"Okay, so if my career's not what you called me out here to talk about, what's the shit, Hap?" She turned slightly in her chair to look him straight in the eye.

"It's about, Ma," he started, his earlier attitude towards her softening some. It was clear to Marlowe just how really worried he was. "She's not looking good."

Sitting forward, Marlowe put her elbows on her knees and ran one hand through her loose hair. "I know," Marlowe replied hesitantly and moistened her lips before she continued. "Hap, I'm so sorry I wasn't around like I should have been. I kinda got—caught up," she finished quietly. "I'm just not used to seeing her like this."

"Yeah, I know," Happy nodded. "She's a tough bitch, though."

"I wish I had been here for her . . . and you. Having to deal with it all on your own must have been tough."

"I handled it," he replied brusquely, "and so did she, for the most part. Shit got real when she ended up in that fuckin' hospice. I didn't think—" he paused and pressed his thumb and index fingers to his eyes.

"She made it out, Hap." Marlowe assured him with a hand on his denim-clad knee.

"Yeah, and now just as she gets out, I gotta go back inside. I can do the time, I ain't worried about that shit, but her stubborn ass refuses to have a live-in nurse take care of her," Happy explained. "Her doc released her under the condition that she have full-time care until she recoups her strength and her cancer goes into remission. But with that bad knee, she's always doing shit she ain't supposed to be doing. All it would take is one bad fall to set her recovery way back."

"And Ceci hasn't been around?" Marlowe asked. "I mean, I know she's still teaching, but I don't even think she's called the house since I've been back."

Happy nodded. "You're probably right. They've had several falling outs since all this shit started, but according to Ceci, Ma really blasted into her this time around for hiring a home attendant and sending her ass over here without warning."

Marlowe chuckled. "I'm sure that went over well."

"Judging from last night, apparently not," Happy grinned laconically. "You're lucky Ceci told me about the live-in caretaker because that's the only reason I went so easy on you last night. When you attacked my ass, I figured Ma had caved and let the woman stay."

"So it never occurred to you that you just might have been flinging your own mother around?" Marlowe chastised with half a smile.

"Shit no! I know what my own mother smells like, and it ain't at all like that fruity shit you poured all over yourself last night. I smelled you the minute you hit the hallway. I just figured it was some bitch who was at least making an effort to protect Ma and that it would be pretty shitty of me to pull my Glock out and shoot her."

"When was this? _I_ had the drop on _you_ from the word go," she reminded him with a huge grin.

"Never mind all that shit." Happy waved away Marlowe's goading as inconsequential even though he flashed a grimace that sort of resembled a smile. "Bottom line, it's obvious that having to convince Ma to have somebody come in is no longer necessary," Happy's smile was almost evil, "now that you're back."

"What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking that since you're currently unemployed, you stay put right here with Ma until I get out of the joint. You know she'll only tolerate having family around," Happy pointed a finger at Marlowe, "and _you're_ her family."

The fact of the matter was that Marlowe had been keeping a close eye on Amelia for the last week. She had been keeping her doctor appointments and continued to take her medications as prescribed, but it was easy to see that the woman was far from 100% healthy.

"You're preaching to the choir, Hap. I wasn't planning on going anywhere for the time being, but what if Tía's not amenable to the idea of me sticking around for the next fourteen months? I can't force her to let me stay," Marlowe replied.

"I don't give a flying fuck what she wants. It's what _I_ want that matters, Marley. I need to know that she's going to have the care she needs and since I can't be here for her, I'm gonna need you to be," Happy said silkily. "Unless, of course, you don't love her as much as you claim."

"Fuck you! You know that's not true and using emotional blackmail, knowing how bad I feel about not being around before, is a real dick move," Marlowe charged. "I may not have been around then, but I'm here now and that's all that matters."

"Good, then it's settled. Your ass is staying put in Bakersfield until I get out," Happy smiled as he stood. "Now you better get your ass in that kitchen and clean it up. You know Ma won't tolerate dirty dishes and shit lying around all damn day."

"And where the fuck do you think you're going?" Marlowe demanded as she stood up as well.

"I need another pack of smokes before I head back to Charming in a couple of hours," Happy replied.

" _What_? You're not even staying a whole day?" Marlowe asked, trying hard to mask her disappointment.

"I gotta head back. I need to get ready for a trip." Happy thought about all the shit he needed to do before pulling out for Belfast the following afternoon. "It can't be helped, little girl."

Pausing before heading over to his bike, Happy walked back and reached out to grab a surprised Marlowe by the back of the head. Landing a hard kiss on her forehead, he turned to head back to his ride and finally allowed himself to open up just a little to the bratty little kid that somehow he had managed to help his mother raise.

"Missed your skinny ass," he muttered before straddling his bike and pulling out of the driveway, his pipes roaring in the distance.

* * *

**Glossary**

**Mi bebecito:** my little baby.

 **Vieja:** Old woman; old lady.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sons of Anarchy. I do, however, own Marlowe and any other OCs that appear in the Two Sons Universe.**

* * *

_**Stockton State Penitentiary, CA – March 2009** _

Stockton State Penitentiary was a sprawling institutional complex spread out over 2500 acres some 20 miles north of Stockton's city limits. Comprised of four cell blocks, the more than 3600 inmates that called the prison home were sequestered into groups based on the nature of their crimes and their potential for violence.

Minimum security inmates, those incarcerated for non-violent offenses, were housed in Cell Blocks A and C and were allowed to work within the secured perimeter of the prison. With the exception of protective custody inmates held in individual cells, these inmates were housed in large dormitories, their time on the inside considered the easiest by their more hardcore counterparts. With medium security inmates housed in Cell Block B, it was Cell Block D that housed California's most violent offenders, including those living on borrowed time as they waited out their appeals on Death Row.

With its large yard used for inmate recreation surrounded by the four cell blocks and several administrative buildings, Stockton Prison was an impenetrable fortress. Built in 1941, the prison boasted a reputation of being inescapable. Thanks to its four-foot thick concrete block walls and two-story high barbed wire fences, no inmate had ever managed to make an unauthorized exit. This was a fact that provided some comfort for the residents in the surrounding area who deemed the inmates as little more than animals; murderers, rapists and thieves being the worst of the lot.

Life inside the prison was a rigid set of regimented activities designed to remind an inmate that they had given up the right to exercise their free will once they crossed the threshold into the penitentiary. However, despite the armed guards that roamed the cell blocks ready to crack skulls if necessary, the reality was that the convicts were the ones in charge of how they lived their lives in prison. They existed in an alternate universe of their own creation where women didn't exist except in the contraband pages of Hustler magazine and where paper money had been replaced as the currency of choice by cartons of cigarettes.

In this environment, the pack mentality thrived and the only way for an inmate to survive was to align himself with one of the segregated groups that ran the prison and the yard. With a number of Hispanic, Black, White and Asian gangs populating Stockton, if an inmate didn't have affiliation with any of the gangs by ethnicity alone, then he needed the hook-up for protection or life on the inside could quickly become deadly.

For the six members of the Sons of Anarchy Redwood Original, that fact had been made crystal clear the day Jackson Teller almost died.

* * *

_**Wednesday, March 25, 2009** _

Almost two weeks in the prison infirmary and Jax still couldn't get himself into an upright position.

Moving slower than a man his age should and with a considerable amount of pain, Jax finally managed to approximate what from a distance might look like sitting up. He wasn't a pussy, but the searing pain in his punctured lung and gut made breathing almost impossible while trying to move. Taking short, shallow breaths, Jax allowed his eyes to wander around the small dank ward of the prison infirmary before he attempted another go at sitting upright.

 _St. Thomas it sure as hell ain't_ , he noted grimly, taking in the depressing gray paint on the walls and the small but high barred windows that kept the sun's rays from penetrating the gloomy room. The only plus that had come from having a machine breath for him when pneumonia had set in about a week after almost dying was being spared having to breath in the stale stank air of blood, piss and vomit, lightly masked by the stench of industrial-strength bleach.

The room's only other occupant was another inmate named Frank. Frank was 65 years old and had end-stage prostate cancer. Having served only four years of a 25-year sentence for killing his estranged wife by running her over several times with his car, Frank had been denied his request for a compassionate release. With no family willing or able to see to his round-the-clock care during his final days, Frank had recently slipped into a coma. Jax couldn't help but feel bad for the man. Instead of being surrounded by his loved ones, it was only a matter of time before Frank slipped away permanently and Jax would be the only one around to witness it.

The fact that he had come close to sharing a similar fate with Frank just twenty-six days into his stay in Stockton was not lost on Jax. The plastic i.d. band on his left wrist identified him as Inmate T33714, a constant reminder that he was nothing but a number within these walls. As such, all he could expect was to be treated like less than an animal if the fact that he had been kept shackled to the railing while on his death bed was anything to go by.

Jiggling the handcuffs on his left arm that kept him attached to the bed, Jax sighed. Sitting up would have been so much easier without them and with no one around to lend a hand, Jax resigned himself to staying only semi-upright. Leaning his head covered in blond fuzz against the metal bed frame, Jax tossed his pencil onto his lap in frustration and used his right hand to stroke his growing beard restlessly.

Jax had known that doing this stint in Stockton wasn't going to be easy. Short time, long time, it didn't matter. Any time in the joint never was. Separated from the world he knew in Charming, life on the inside always felt like he was living in suspended animation while his brothers and loved ones back home continued going on with their lives. As he almost bled out by the pay phones, Jax couldn't help but think that even though he would be mourned if he died, eventually life would go on without him. Tara and Abel had been at the forefront of his mind. Now that he finally had something truly worth dying for aside from the Club, Jax wasn't ready to die and let life go on without him.

When it came to doing what needed to be done, Jax may have seriously underestimated the results but the decision to turn the tables on the Club's enemies had been a pretty easy one to make. Standing in his mother's hospital room, Jax had watched the strongest woman he had ever known break down after being threatened by Special Agent June Stahl with life in prison without her family. Faced with fifteen years in a federal prison himself, the realization of all he would ultimately end up losing—his mother, his son and his Club—had spurred Jax into taking action fueled by the need for vengeance. He had been determined to find a way out of the bind they were in to save everyone he loved.

The plan to get his mother out of having to serve time and getting a reduced sentence for the Club while giving Agent Stahl and Jimmy O'Phelan a healthy dose of outlaw justice had come to Jax in a blur. The tricky part had been convincing the Club that any of it was at all possible, much less all of it. Clay had been the most vocal dissenter, believing that there was a real risk in Jax dangling himself on a hook in front of the unbelievably suspicious and savvy ATF agent. The crazy gash had proven herself to be off her rocker and was capable of anything, including murder, but she wasn't stupid.

It didn't matter what Jax promised in return, it was going to take the performance of a lifetime to convince Stahl that the Prince of Charming would turn rat on his Club in order to save his mother and son. A lot of shit had gone wrong before they had gone right. The Club had lost some SAMBEL brothers along the way, with Keith McGee's betrayal hitting them the hardest, but in the end, Jax and the Club had come out on top. Having succeeded in retrieving his son from Ireland, the Club had managed to wipe clean their roster of current enemies, including Hector Salazar. Unfortunately for Jax, his efforts to save his family had put SAMCRO on the radar of a new set of extremely powerful enemies. Enemies who, apparently, had a long reach.

The decision to double-cross Victor Putlova, head of the ROC's Oregon crew, had been made on the fly. The intention had never been to cheat Putlova, but he had forced their hand when he demanded $2 million for Jimmy O. They knew the Russians would come at them hard, but no one had anticipated that they'd come at them so fast, less than a month into the Club's 14-month stretch. With no way of knowing for sure how his brothers were doing, Jax could only hope that the fact that he was alone in the infirmary—aside from Frank—meant that they were alive and well.

In his mind's eye, Jax remembered the nervous anticipation he had felt while waiting his turn on line. At the time, Jax had convinced himself that he was just anxious to speak to Tara and hear her voice. He should have known better than to confuse that feeling in the pit of his stomach for anything other than his instincts warning him of the potential danger. Clay had made it clear that they were to stay close together at all times and watch each other's backs. At the very least, they were to always move around in pairs.

What he should have done was take Happy's advice about leaving the outside on the outside and just concentrate on staying alive. He had seen Jax brooding over a picture of his old lady and his son one too many times and had warned him that, if he wasn't careful, that kind of distraction could prove to be his downfall. Of course, Jax had taken offense, chalking up Happy's flippant attitude to the fact that he didn't have an old lady waiting on him to come home. In hindsight, Jax made the resolution to never disregard what his brother had to say ever again. He wasn't much of a talker but when he did open his mouth, Happy had proven time and again that he had the instincts and the smarts to back it up.

The more Jax thought about it, however, the more convinced he became that had it not happened that day at the pay phones, it was bound to happen anywhere. In the yard, on the chow line, in the showers or maybe even in his cell. Jax had no clue what the hell the inmate that had repeatedly plunged the homemade shiv into his gut had said in guttural Russian. For all he knew, it was something along the lines of "Eat shit and die, muthafucka", but his intention had been crystal clear.

Putlova had wanted him dead.

With his left lung punctured, had any of the knife wounds been an inch closer to another vital organ, dead he would have been and that fact plagued Jax's every waking moment. As he slowly recovered, all Jax had was time to think about his life and all the choices he had made that had brought him to this moment in time. The Life was all he knew, all he had ever wanted since he was barely out of diapers. Jax had always known that living the Life came at a high price. Only difference now was that he was no longer certain if that was a price he was willing to pay.

 _Especially not when the price for my crimes is the blood of innocents_ , Jax thought about Tara and the child she had lost during the Salazar kidnapping ordeal.

Now, Jax had to figure out where he was going from here. Getting a second chance at living, Jax wasn't so arrogant as to not learn from his past mistakes. The simple fact was that if he continued on this path he would only end up in prison for the rest of his life or dead and neither option worked for Jax. His rational mind, however, was telling him to first concentrate on recovering and then making it out of Stockton alive. There was still plenty of time between now and then and a lot of thinking to do before making a decision that could drastically alter the rest of his life.

With not much else to do, Jax had no choice but to reexamine his life, including his time spent in Belfast looking for Abel. His time there had opened his eyes in ways that deep down he wished it hadn't. He may have been young in the months before JT's death, but those final memories of his father were making a whole lot of sense to Jax in light of his conversations with Father Kellan Ashby.

Out of disappointment and frustration, Jax had declared that he was done listening to dead men. If he was honest with himself, what he had really been saying was that he wished he had never found JT's manuscript in the first place. The outlaw life had been much less complicated for Jax while he had been living with blinders on. But now, in the aftermath of McGee's betrayal and in spite of the fact that Jax still believed JT to be a weak man, his father had been right about the direction in which the Club was headed. No longer a club based on the love of brotherhood, it was now ruled by fear and greed and was quickly heading down a path of self-destruction.

As Jax had read his father's manuscript for the first time, he more than once had to suppress the voice in his head that asked why JT had wasted his time writing about all that had gone wrong with his vision instead of getting up off his ass and fixing it. As soon as those thoughts would pop into his head, Jax would remind himself that JT had run out of time. That he had died before he got the chance to right the wrongs. After learning about JT and Maureen Ashby, however, the real answer was now crystal clear.

JT had written the book with the intention that _someone else_ fix the Club. And in spite of dedicating the book to the hope that Jax never know this life of chaos, Jax now understood that even _that_ had been bullshit. What other life could he have possibly known if his own father had been unwilling or unable to make the changes himself? The sense of obligation and duty that Jax had felt as he read his father's words were real because that's exactly what JT had intended, that _Jax_ be the one to save it.

According to Kellan Ashby, JT had wanted nothing more than the chance to start over. Jax now believed that maybe that do-over meant starting a new life for himself in Ireland with Maureen and their daughter Trinity, not fixing what was broken back in Charming. His father, the man he had worshipped like a hero had been responsible for bringing Jax into this life of chaos and then had tried to back away, leaving behind a collection of words with the hope that Jax would be able to find his own way out of it.

And Jax knew that the greed that running guns had introduced into the brotherhood would ultimately end up killing him if he didn't figure a way out for the Club. He loved the MC, had come close to sacrificing his life for it, but even Jax knew that it would be arrogant of him to believe that one man was capable of refocusing the Club's vision away from the money the guns brought in.

But with the Club at a crossroads, Jax knew that more than their livelihood was at stake. _Brains Before Bullets_ still meant something to Jax and he knew his brothers well enough to know that they were still good men. He just needed to find a way to make them see once again that their brotherhood didn't have to be drenched in blood in order to work.

Picking up the pencil that lay in his lap again, Jax continued to write down his thoughts in the notebook he constantly kept at his side and hoped to one day share with his son. Journaling helped with his thought process. Seeing his thoughts down in simple black and white helped him keep what needed to be done in perspective and at the forefront of his mind.

Because Jax was determined to get out of Stockton alive in order to start _and_ finish what his old man hadn't had the balls to do himself.

Jackson Teller was going to save SAMCRO.

* * *

Lying on a narrow bed on top of a thin mattress, the stretched out figure lay silently composed as the long minutes of the days stretched out before him. Doing a stretch in the hole wasn't a big deal. Even though it had been more than eight years since his last stint in prison and he was no longer a young man, he had done time in solitary many a time before this.

Clarence Morrow slowly managed to turn his large frame onto his side in the pitch darkness. Flexing hands he could barely see in front of him, Clay grimaced as near-paralyzing pain shot through them. This time, however, it wasn't just the arthritis that was bothering him. He rubbed his rough hewn fingers across the scabs that had formed over his knuckles. These served as trophies earned by the 60-year old biker after Clay and his brothers had beat the ever-loving shit out of a Russian goon squad in the Chow Hall. It wasn't meant as retribution. That would come later, but the very spirited melee between SAMCRO and the agents of Victor Putlova had gone a long way in calming Clay's fury.

The anger and rage Clay had felt upon learning that his son had been brutally attacked had been nothing short of overwhelming. As much as the Sons' President was enraged by the audacity of the Russians for going after SAMCRO's VP, a lot of Clay's anger was directed at himself. The well-being of his men was his responsibility and Clay had known that landing in Stockton at this particular time would be dangerous, but he had hoped to secure protection for them once on the inside. And because he hadn't worked fast enough, and because the attack had come without warning, Jax had ended up paying the price.

When Tig and Happy had questioned him about retribution soon after the attack, Clay had told them to stand down until he had a chance to think rationally. All intentions of doing some rational thinking flew out of his fuckin' head, however, the moment a crew of Russian inmates taunted them as they sat having a meal only hours after the attack. Needless to say, Clay lost his shit and, before any of his brothers could stop him, he had plowed right in with his huge meat hooks and pounded on the nearest and biggest Russian.

With adrenaline pumping through his veins, Clay felt a fury like no other that allowed him to beat on the Russian prick with the strength of two men. His brothers had joined in and for a while nothing was heard over the yelling, grunting and cursing. In his peripheral vision, Clay had seen Bobby kick a much younger man in the balls; Happy had gleefully busted another in the face with his own skull before twisting his assailant's dick in a knot and heaving him across the room to crash into a table; Tig—his brother from another mother—had blood dripping from his mouth as he spat out a huge piece of some gulag's ear; and Juice had slammed his opponents face onto the hard metal surface of a table repeatedly until the man's nose erupted in a shower of blood.

It had been glorious, that is, until the guards had come storming in. Armed with riot gear, including batons, the bulls quickly subdued the battling inmates and Clay and his brothers found themselves tossed into the hole for two weeks. Not only had Clay managed to get himself some payback for what had been done to Jax, but by the same stroke he procured the Club temporary protection from further attacks by landing them in solitary confinement.

Judging by the rumbling in his stomach, it was clearly chow time and Clay wondered when the hell the guard was planning on stepping up with his very shitty food. He winced as the rectangular slot in the door suddenly opened and allowed a bright beam to shine in, making his light-deprived eyes water.

"It's about damn time," Clay muttered to himself. Sitting in an upright position, Clay was about to stand to grab the small box of food when he heard the locks of the door click open.

A tall bristly-haired guard stood in the open doorway, his baton at his side. "Times up, Morrow."

"What the fuck?" Clay muttered with a slight smirk. "It's been two weeks already?"

"Yep. Looks like you're sprung." Bill "Parce" Parson pulled the door wide open. "Your buddies are being cut loose today, too."

Clay rubbed his hands over his face thick with stubble as he stepped out of the hole. "I guess I lost track of time."

"Well, you are getting old, geezer. It's to be expected," Parce smiled as Clay eyed him irritably. "Got something for you though. Make wise use of it. Minutes are limited."

Reaching out Clay took the burner from the guard's grasp and tucked it into the waistband of his pants. "Thanks. I owe ya."

"I know you do," Parce replied easily as he led the man through the doors of the solitary confinement section and headed towards Cell Block D.

"Any word on how my boy's doing?" Clay asked.

"Still in the infirmary. He's alive, but won't be back in Gen Pop for a long while. He's still recovering from a bout of pneumonia and the Doc thinks he might be bleeding into his stomach. Could need surgery again." Entering the Cell Block, the guard navigated Clay through several long dark hallways of cells currently unoccupied before stopping in front of his. "But don't let that setback stall you in securing protection and quick. Word on the block is that there's a kill order out on him, so make your call now. Inmates won't be back in their cells for another thirty. For your sake, I hope you get what you need," Parce said grimly, " _and_ that includes my money."

"Don't worry," Clay assured the guard. "You'll be taken care of."

Walking inside, Clay sat down on his bunk, the bottom one. He had been counting on having to switch bunks with Jax. With his son still recovering, there was no way Jax was going to manage hauling his ass up there. Now it looked like it was going to be a while before he could lay eyes on his VP once again.

 _Before that happens, I need to get down to business_ , Clay thought grimly. Discreetly pulling the burner out, he sighed before gingerly punching in the numbers he needed. _Time to make a deal with the devil._

* * *

" _So how's your boy?" Marcus Alvarez asked as he blew several smoke rings._

"He's alive and I wanna keep him that way," Clay replied smoothly. _Whether that happens or not is gonna depend on you_ , he thought with a little bitterness.

Considering the bloody history between the Sons and the Mayans, having to reach out to Alvarez for help was a big pill to swallow. It was a necessary evil, one that Clay needed to tolerate if he had any hope of obtaining protection for Jax and the rest of their brothers. Clay had initially reached out to Alvarez just a few days before they had ended up in solitary. The fact that Clay was using a burner provided by Alvarez himself meant he was interested in talking. It was a step in the right direction, but Clay couldn't help but wonder what it would end up costing him in the long run.

" _Y_ _ou know what they say, ese. You scratch my back and I'll scratch yours."_

"Well, just how hard am I gonna have to scratch there, Marcus?" Clay asked silkily.

" _I have an acquaintance south of the border that needs a shit load of hardware," Marcus replied, "and I would appreciate your help in finding a way to procure it for them."_

Raising an eyebrow, Clay leaned back against the wall of his bunk. "How much hardware we talkin'?"

" _All you can sell," Marcus replied. "And not just your usual inventory, either. My acquaintance has a_ _really_ _big need for_ _really_ _big hardware, that is, if you can get access to the kind of shit they're looking for."_

Clay was glad that Marcus couldn't see the shit-eating grin that had spread across his mug. Just before going inside, the Sons had brokered a deal with the RIRA for access to a higher quality of merch. The Club's coffers were threadbare, so the idea of being able to earn while in Stockton _and_ garner protection was just too good a deal to pass up. The only problem Clay could foresee was that it was too good a deal, as in _too good to be true_. He couldn't afford another misstep that would end up with the Sons paying a heavy penalty for it.

"I think we might be able to help them out. What exactly am I looking to get my hands on for your friends?"

" _I'll let you work those details out with them, but you helping them helps me and I will help you, Clay. I figure I can get my boys in the Double M to give you and your brothers some protection."_

Clay nodded to himself. The Double M, also known as La Eme or the Mexican Mafia, was one of the biggest crews in Stockton, second only to the Aryan Brotherhood. If the Sons could have them covering their backs, they should be able to keep an arm's length between them and several of the much smaller Russian gangs that were under Putlova's thumb.

_Which should give me enough time to broker some kind of a peace treaty with the ROC._

"How soon can you have our backs?"

" _In the spirit of cooperation, I'll put the word out today. And that protection will continue throughout your stay," Marcus responded._

"Thank you, Marcus," Clay replied with genuine gratitude. "And I look forward to doing business with you real soon."

" _We'll see, ese. We'll see. Expect someone to make contact in a couple of days," the Mayan President grinned. "Don't let me down."_

* * *

_**Friday, March 27, 2009** _

March in Stockton wasn't exactly feeling like springtime. Although the sun was shining bright, there was still a definite chill in the air. Clay massaged his hands, cursing the shitty meds he'd gotten from the infirmary that morning. He had told the asswipe that called himself a doctor that the pain meds he kept giving him barely took the edge off. Made him wonder just what kind of care Jax was getting in that hellhole. The only good thing to come from getting meds that might as well be sugar pills was that Clay had been able to get some word on how Jax was doing.

Despite the cold, the yard was crowded with inmates getting their daily exercise. Looking beyond the groups of men lifting weights, Clay made his way over to the table where the rest of his crew sat waiting for him. Today would be the first time that the five of them would be able to meet since getting out of solitary.

Happy was the first on his feet to welcome his brother. After hugging it out, he pulled away to eye the older man with an approving nod of his bald head.

 _Looks good. Clay may be getting up there, but he sure can still handle his shit_ , Happy thought proudly.

"Good to see you, brother," Happy growled.

"Likewise, brother." Clay looked him up and down. "Shit, Hap. What the fuck were you doing in solitary? Looks like you packed on some serious muscle."

The tall man's grin was more like a grimace. "Exercise doesn't just keep the body in shape. It keeps the mind sharp." Happy eyed the rest of his brothers. "I gotta be ready to protect my brothers in this shit hole at all times, especially with our chances of surviving without a color crew backing us up are slim to none."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Quit bragging about your physique and get the fuck outta the way," Tig said loudly as he shoved his way to Clay's side and slammed two heavy fists on his shoulders. "You doin' okay, old man?"

"Call me old man again, Tigger and you won't have to worry about eating the shitty food since you won't have no fuckin' teeth," Clay warned good-naturedly before returning the hug.

"Nice to see that you're still alive and kicking," Bobby chimed in as he slapped a hand on Clay's back. "Juicy Boy here was starting to think you'd croak in solitary."

"Shut up, asshole!" Juice complained as he bumped shoulders with Clay as his President ran a hand over his newly-grown in hair. "I was just concerned is all."

"Hey, at least that break from you served a purpose. Now I won't have to look at that crazy Mohawk of yours," Clay kidded. "Sit your asses down, brothers 'cause I got a lot of knowledge I need to drop on ya."

The group of men settled around the table with Clay sitting at its head. For all intents and purposes, they might have been sitting around the Redwood table back in Charming instead of the middle of a prison yard. Despite the chronic pain of his hands, Clay slammed a fist down on the metal table to signify the start of an official Club meeting.

"First, I was up at the infirmary earlier getting some meds for my mitts and was able to score some news on Jax," he said quietly.

"How's he doing?" Happy asked, his dark eyes gleaming.

"He's alive, but recuperating slowly. As a matter of fact, he needed another surgery yesterday to stop some internal bleeding."

"Shit!" Bobby cursed.

"That's fucked up, brother," Tig added. "What's the prognosis?"

"Good, for now, but this ain't St. Thomas we're dealing with," Clay replied. "The care here is mediocre at best but his doctor believes that, barring any other complications, he'll recover just fine. It just won't be for a while."

"What's 'a while'?" Juice asked.

"A month. Maybe more."

"Well, look on the bright side, brother," Bobby started. "Without us securing protection, Jax is just a dead man walking when he gets released into Gen Pop. With Putlova using his clout to get the Russians to strike against us, he's better off in the infirmary."

"For how long, though?" Happy questioned. "Who's to stay that Putlova's reach can't extend into the protective custody ward of the infirmary?"

"That's where I come in with the good news," Clay replied. "I was able to reach out to Alvarez and secured us protection from the Double M."

"What?!" Tig exclaimed in disbelief. "With all the bad blood between our crews, why would Brown suddenly agree to watch our backs? That shit with Zobelle—"

"Is water under the fuckin' bridge," Clay declared. "We live in a tit-for-tat world, brother, you know this. Why else would Marcus agree to help the Sons out?"

"He wants something in return," Happy supplied confidently. "And it ain't money."

Bobby was shaking his head. "Good because as Treasurer I can tell you unequivocally, we have none. That's what got us in this mess with the Russians in the first place."

"Yeah, I kinda got that part already," Clay said with a smirk.

"What then?" Juice asked. "It's not like we're in the best position to do much of anything for Alvarez right now."

"That's not quite true, Juicy," Clay replied as he wagged a finger at him. "What Marcus wants in return is a service we already provide, brothers. Not only will we have a chance to stay alive in here but once we get out, we'll gonna have a new customer with really deep pockets."

"Who?" Tig asked, still not convinced that Marcus Alvarez was at all trustworthy.

Succinctly and in a low tone of voice, Clay downloaded to his brothers the deal that Marcus was brokering on behalf of a business associate from south of the border. "I'm supposed to meet with someone from his organization in the next couple of days. In the meantime, Marcus has put the word out to the Double M that we're to be protected. That should go a long way in keeping the Russians off our collective ass."

"Shit, Clay. I'm all for making money and staying alive, but this just sounds a little too good to be true. What kind of deal are we talking here?" Bobby asked.

"Don't know for sure and I won't know until I sit down with their guy. Whatever it is, we may have to be prepared to take it, at least in the interim. It'll buy us some time to reach out to Otto, who can then reach out to Lenny. Lenny's still tight with the Russian Old Guard and maybe he can convince them to broker a peace treaty with Putlova."

"Nah, I ain't feeling that, man," Tig said in a harsh whisper. "Those assholes tried to kill Jax, a brother and an officer of this Club. That shit can't go unchecked no matter what kind of a deal we make."

"And I agree, Tigger," Clay's blue eyes resembled hard crystal marbles. "We'll get our pound of flesh for that shit, but not here, not now. Our goal is to survive what time we've got left in here and to do that we may have to make a couple of hard choices. Ultimately, the only thing that matters is protecting our own first. Our reputation can handle itself until we're back in a position where we can effectively deal with _everyone_ who took part in attacking Jax. Agreed?"

The patches around the table nodded soberly.

Clay was about to say something else, when Happy nudged him. "Looks like we're about to have some company," he growled as he nodded toward a group of inmates heading their way.

Clay grinned as he noted the distinctive tattoos identifying their gang affiliation. "Boys, looks like Alvarez has kept his word."


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sons of Anarchy. I do, however, own Marlowe and any other OCs that appear in the Two Sons Universe.**

* * *

_**Stockton State Penitentiary, CA – Friday, June 5, 2009** _

Sitting on his bunk, Happy flipped through the pages of the mail he had finally received from the only two women in his life.

Although the Unholy One had already served nearly four months of his sentence, he had made it a point of not calling Bakersfield. Adhering to the old adage of "no news is good news", he figured it was the best way to keep his mother from not worrying. It didn't help, however, that by not calling, Happy himself had no idea what the fuck was going on back home or with his mother's health. And if the lag time between letters was anything to go by, it seemed that neither woman was in a hot rush to reach out to him, each taking their sweet damn time in writing and cluing his ass in on what was going on.

 _Pretty damn selfish if you ask me_ , Happy had thought quite often during his incarceration, refusing to acknowledge that in order for communication to be effective it had to work both ways.

So it had taken him by surprise to return to his cell after chow and finding two envelopes carelessly tossed on his bunk—one in a delicate pink stationary and the other in a plain white envelope. With many decades of practice keeping his emotions in check, his expressionless face was so stoic as he picked up his letters that no one could have spotted the relief in his almost-black eyes.

"Hey," Juice chattered excitedly as he entered the cell. "You got mail. Cool. Who from?"

Looking up from the envelopes in his hand, Happy scowled at his young brother. "First off, none of your goddamn business," he growled. "Second, shut the fuck up and let me read in peace or I'm gonna end up adding another ten years to my sentence for slitting your damn throat."

"Okay," Juice said, putting his hands up defensively. "No need for you to lose your shit," he said as he hauled himself up to the top bunk. "Just thought you might want to share, is all."

"This ain't no damn circle jerk, asshole," Happy muttered as he ripped open the first of his mail, recognizing his mother's neat cursive handwriting on sight. "And stop pestering me or I'm gonna slap a dress on your ass and bend you over. Keep nagging me like a bitch and I'm gonna have to fuck you like one."

_Shit, Tig's right. The kid is just too damn talky._

Happy read and reread the letter again before tossing it to the side.

Wishing her son well, Amelia had spent the bulk of the letter discussing what could only be termed as nonessential bullshit. Sharing nothing more than the mundane highlights of her day like Happy actually gave a shit that Mrs. Ortiz from down the block had finally divorced her cheating husband of 35 years. Almost three pages of nothing, not a damn word about herself or the state of her health and absolutely nothing about Marlowe, except to complain about how skinny the young woman was.

 _When did the fuckin' roles get reversed? Juice talks too damn much and Ma not enough_ , Happy thought as he ripped into the second letter, hoping to score more details from Marlowe.

And got more than he bargained for.

Considering the fact that they hadn't spoken in nearly ten years, Happy had expected to wade through a lot of bullshit to get to the heart of the matter. He remembered plenty of times in the past, especially when she was a teenager, when trying to get information out of Marlowe was nearly impossible. He'd have to resort to threats of beating her ass in order to get the Intel he was after, whether it was school-related or getting the details on the latest little punk-ass boy chasing after her. Happy was glad to see, however, that the military had turned Marlowe into the kind of woman that got straight to the point. Her letter was brief but unlike Ma's, was packed with the information he needed to know.

" _Since this is your second—or maybe third—time in the joint, I guess I don't have to warn you about not dropping the soap. Then again, 14 months without 'tang might tempt a man to drop the soap once or twice. Forget I said anything. Who am I to judge, right? Anyway, since I haven't heard shit from you since you left and since my letters have not been returned, I'm going to assume that you're still alive and kicking and have probably been in solitary at least once. Maybe twice."_

 _Smart-mouthed bitch,_ Happy grinned. He wasn't grinning, however, by the time he was done reading Marlowe's letter.

" _I'm not going to jerk you around, Hap. Tía could be doing better. She's put on a little weight but according to the doctor, she's still about 25 pounds underweight for a woman of her height. She says her current round of meds have screwed with her appetite and has threatened to stop taking them if I or the doctor keep 'nagging' her to eat. Don't worry, though, because I won't let that happen._

" _With her knee worsening, she's having a hard time getting around, but refuses to take shit easy. Trying to keep her off ladders and shit has become a daily occurrence since she's determined to finish spring cleaning. Between keeping her clean-freak cranky-ass in check and dealing with both Tía and Ceci, I'm going to lose my damn mind. At least the Navy gave me combat pay. The only thing I'm gonna come away with after playing referee for the next ten months is a drinking problem._

" _The doctor will be running some tests soon that will determine if the cancer's finally in remission. If the fucker's back, she'll have to start an aggressive chemo schedule, which Tía's already refusing to agree to because she doesn't want to lose her hair._

" _I'm telling you this shit not because I know if I didn't you'd break out of Stockton and come to Bakersfield just to put a foot up my ass, but because deep down Tía knows that she has this shit beat. She still has some bumps left to overcome in the road ahead, but I know she's got this beat too. Trust me, I wouldn't daydream about choking the shit out of her if I didn't believe that was true. So try not to worry or I should say, try not to worry_ _too_ _much. Tía will be here when you get out. I promise."_

Finally folding the thin sheet of paper and shoving it back into its envelope, Happy folded both letters and stuffed them in the back pocket of the gray denim prison pants. Intertwining his fingers behind his gleaming head, Happy lay on his bunk and stared sightlessly at the underside of Juice's bunk.

Reading Marley's letter had set Happy's mind somewhat at ease. Peeling away the layers of her snarkiness and self-deprecating humor, Happy knew he had made the right decision in getting her to stay with his mother. All he could do now was sit and wait for the news that Amelia's cancer had gone into remission because for Happy there was no other option. As an outlaw biker, life and death were practically interchangeable. Taking a life didn't affect him anymore than the prospect of losing his own did.

All bets were off, however, where his mother was concerned. Losing the woman who had given him life was not something he was prepared for.

_So for Marlowe's sake, she better keep Ma alive. Otherwise I might lose my shit and take it out on her._

Because living without Amelia Lowman in his life wouldn't be living at all.

* * *

_**Stockton State Penitentiary, CA – Tuesday, June 9, 2009** _

Slamming his muscled chest into his height-challenged opponent, Happy's grin was almost maniacal as the 130-pound man went flying through the air and landed on his ass. Having appropriated the ball from him in the process, Happy barely heard the violent cursing shouted at him by the man's teammates as they tried to body slam him in order to regain control of the basketball.

The extra muscle that Happy had managed to pack on during and after his solitary confinement held him in good stead. It certainly made plowing through his opponents easy enough. Spotting an opening, Happy tossed the ball to Tig and pumped his fist in celebration as the SAA easily caught the ball and, taking a running leap, sunk a three-pointed shot.

"And who said white men can't jump?" Happy jeered at one of his opponents, before bro-hugging Tig. Hearing the sore loser complain about Happy's cheap shot, he turned around and suddenly slammed a fist into the man's face, dropping the thug like a sack of wet laundry.

_Just cuz these fuckers are watching our backs don't mean I have to take their shit._

Happy and Tig had been playing five-on-two with the Double M crew for over an hour. More like a street brawl than a friendly game of basketball, fists, vicious elbows to the gut, and attempted kicks to the balls were the order of the day as the Sons beat Mexican Mafia ass like they were their bitches.

As a teenager hanging out on the streets of Bakersfield, pick-up basketball games had been one of Happy's favorite pastimes. He loved playing the game, but the last time he could remember picking up a ball had been before leaving Charming for Tacoma so many years ago. Over the last couple of months in Stockton, however, Happy had regained his skills in handling the rock. It gave his smug arrogance a boost to realize that even though he was almost 43 years old, he could still kick ass twenty years younger than him.

Unlike their opponents, it hadn't come as a surprise to Happy that Tig had game and some pretty solid moves backing him up. When he had first joined the mother charter, Happy, Tig and Kozik had regularly spent their down time playing ball on the lot in the area designated as a "court" by the lone hoop that hung outside the overhang near the boxing ring. Back then, the three of them had been as close as brothers could get and would team up to hustle other members or Prospects out of their hard-earned money. Looking back, his early days with SAMCRO had been the best of Happy's life.

Happy, Tig and Kozik had been dubbed the "Wolf Pack" by JT. Fiercely loyal to the Club and not afraid to shed blood for the brotherhood, they were young and wild. When not working their legit jobs as mechanics or their non-legit one running guns, the Wolf Pack enjoyed the privileges that came with the patch. Not only did they have their pick of the croweater litter, but they got to haze the Prospects mercilessly. Whenever the chance presented itself, they would also bust the teenaged balls of the founding members' sons, Jax and Opie, toughening them up for when it was their turn to prospect for the Club.

It all came to an end, however, after the "Missy Incident of 2001". The death of Tig's dog had caused an irreparable rift between him and Kozik. At that point, with Tig already serving as SAA, Clay figured it was best for all concerned if Kozik transferred to the then mid-sized Tacoma charter. Their constant bickering and fisticuffs was having a wide-range negative effect on the entire charter and quite frankly, Clay couldn't stomach the bullshit anymore. A little bored with the Mayberry-like atmosphere in Charming, Happy decided to make the jump as well.

With Tig and Happy locked up, Kozik had returned to Charming to help out and had patched into the mother charter. Tig, of course, considered it a punk move on Kozik's part, but the Club needed voting bodies at the table while most of SAMCRO cooled their heels in Stockton. Whether the SAA was willing to cop to it or not, it was just a matter of time before the Wolf Pack was once again reunited. Happy and Tig were already kicking serious ass on the court, going up against and beating several prison crews. As their rep grew so did the entertainment value as betting on pick-up games surged. The Brothers Grim had done SAMCRO proud as, with every win, they managed to rack up a fair supply of cigarettes, as well as contraband such as cigars for Clay and weed.

Hearing his name, Happy turned to see Juice waving him over as he sat on a bench next to Bobby. Standing his ground with a "don't-fuck-with-me" look on his face, Happy watched as the younger man was forced to get up off his ass and jog over to him if what he wanted was to talk to Happy. Although he had never said it to Juice himself, Happy was glad to see that their time in Stockton was changing him for the better. Not only had he burned off some excess weight and built up muscle, but Juice was starting to toughen up some. Known as the Club idiot, Happy went out of his way to give Juice plenty of shit throughout the years. As an older, more experienced patch, Happy felt it was his obligation to help Juice become a seasoned outlaw. In a way, he was glad they had ended up in the joint because experience itself was the greatest teaching tool. Intel Officer or not, now was the time for Juice to prove what he was made of and so far, Happy was impressed.

"What the fuck you want?" Happy growled. "Can't you see I'm in the middle of a game?"

"C'mon, Hap, I want in. 'Sides, Bobby needs to fill you in on some shit," Juice replied, his light brown eyes sparkling with mischief as he watched the Double M Five bum rush Tig. "The old white dude looks like he could use some help."

"Hey!" Happy slapped a rough hand on the back of Juice's head. "Show some respect for your brother, asshole. We're winning this game. You fuck it up and I'm coming after your ass. Now, go help him out."

"Yes, sir," Juice saluted as he rolled his eyes. With the eagerness of a young puppy, Juice scrambled onto the court and entered the game.

Sweat was gleaming off of Happy's bald head and muscled arms as he sauntered towards the benches and Bobby. He made an imposing figure as he walked through the crowd of inmates that had gathered to watch the game. After nearly ten straight days of rain, it was the first time since spring started that it actually seemed like spring and the yard was packed. Using the bottom edge of his white wife-beater to mop his face, Happy sat down next to the shaggy-haired, potbellied patch who was not only the Club's Treasurer, but its father confessor as well.

"What's up, brother?"

"Just wanted to give you a head's up," Bobby started after taking a drag on his cigarette. "Clay's having another sit down with the Mexican OG. They're close to finalizing the details on the deal." Bobby handed Happy a cigarette and lit it for him.

Taking a deep drag, Happy exhaled. "So what's your take on this deal brokered through Alvarez? Think it's legit?"

"I'm sure it is," Bobby replied quickly, but then shrugged. "Truth is, I'm torn, brother. The way Clay's been talking, part of me wants to believe that this is just what the Club needs to get back on its feet. But the nagging yenta in my head—who sounds a lot like my ex-wife Precious, by the way—keeps telling me if it sounds too good to be true, it probably is. I mean, this ain't gonna be like dealing with the Niners or a half-dozen other crews we've done business with over the years. We're talking about a fuckin' _Mexican Cartel_."

"And that makes you nervous," Happy said as he looked into the older man's eyes. It wasn't a question, but neither was it said in judgment of Bobby. Happy knew his brothers and cowards they were not. That being said, however, neither were they looking to fast-track their exit from this mortal existence.

"Yeah, it does," Bobby nodded solemnly. "They don't call cartels the Mexican mob for nothing. Once you get in bed with the Cartel, there's usually only one way out."

"Dead," Happy provided, even though it could have gone unspoken.

"But not before they fuck up your life by going after everyone you love," Bobby stated. "On the plus side," he continued sarcastically, "I hear the money's pretty fuckin' awesome."

Happy smirked, "I don't know about you, brother, but I can certainly get down with that shit."

His mother's illness had put a sizeable dent in the money Happy had been earning with the Club. Her health insurance covered just so much with the patient expected to pick up the slack. If Happy had not stepped in, Amelia would have given up on her treatments after she had gone through her savings.

There was no question in Happy's mind that Clay had opened the lines of communication that were making a deal with the Galindo Cartel possible for the sake of their safety while in Stockton. In spite of the dangers involved, Happy was looking forward to making money hand over fist again. In his mind, doing business with the Galindo Cartel was only for the short term, but what Bobby had said was true. Once you were in, you were in for life. Happy could take care of himself and, with or without his brothers for back up, there wasn't a man alive that struck fear in his heart. The thought of putting anyone associated with SAMCRO or its members in the Cartel's cross-hairs, however, wasn't something he could take lightly.

Happy grimaced as he thought of his mother. Since his incarceration, the outlaw biker had tried to keep thoughts of his mother in the rearview. Life on the inside was intense enough without having to worry about life on the outside. In order for Happy and his brothers to survive, they needed to stay focused. One of his brothers had already suffered the consequences of a decision made with the well-being of a family member in mind. Happy worrying about his mother and her condition wasn't going to change shit, but having a steady cash flow to make things easier for her when he got out would. For whatever fucking reason she had for coming back home after ten years, having Marlowe stick around to look after his Ma had made an otherwise difficult time that much easier to handle.

Before his mind could jump and stick on the subject of Marlowe, just another basket of shit he didn't want to delve into right now, Happy turned his attention back to the conversation at hand.

"Money ain't jack shit without your life and right now our lives don't belong to us, brother," Bobby started. "Even though the cons outweigh the pros if we go through with this deal, I don't see us making it out of this hole without protection."

Happy shook his head. "There is no 'if', Bobby. We need a majority vote to make this shit happen. I gotta wonder where Jax will land on this once Clay fills him in. Any word on how he's doing?"

Bobby dropped the stub of his cigarette and ground it out with the tip of his prison-issued navy canvas slip-on. "Must be doing better. Parce told Clay that Jax may get out of the infirmary by the end of this week."

"Those Russian fuckers gotta pay for what they did to him," Happy ground out.

"They will, Hap, but you heard Clay as clear as I did," Bobby chided. "Retaliation's gonna have to wait, especially since Lenny finally reached out to Putlova. We're just waiting on a reaction to our peace offering."

"Peace offering," Happy growled, his lip curling in disgust. "The Russians nearly gut our VP and what do we do? We turn around and offer to make Putlova a rich man. That shit ain't right."

"And it ain't permanent either," Bobby replied, clapping a hand on his brother's back. "Putlova's gonna get his for what he did to Jax and the beauty of it all is that he won't see it coming. All we gotta do is sit tight and wait shit out for a minute."

Happy nodded but he wasn't nearly as optimistic as his brother Bobby Elvis. The Russian prick had gone through some serious trouble to put Jax Teller in a pine box and Happy wasn't at all interested in letting that shit go unanswered. Jax was his VP, his brother and his friend and Happy felt he owed a personal debt to the Teller family. It had been John Teller who had seen something in the young thug newly-arrived in Chino and completely out of his element. JT had taken that angry young man under his wing and provided Enrique Lowman with protection at a time when he felt the most vulnerable, never asking for anything in return.

Arrested and charged with the attempted murder of what later turned out to be a Skinhead, the news of Enrique's arrival in Chino spread like wildfire among the Aryan Brotherhood who immediately targeted him for death. He owed his life to the two inmates, both serving a 15-month stretch for possession of illegal firearms, who had come to his aid—best friends John Teller and Clay Morrow. To this day, Happy was never really sure what JT had seen in him. At 24, Happy was a mass of brooding anger and trusted no one. In spite of his surliness, JT had extended his hand to Happy and offered him his friendship. By the time Happy was acquitted of all charges five months later, the two men had formed a bond over their love of Harleys and their mutual distrust and disdain for those in positions of authority.

Happy had walked out of Chino with an offer from JT for a legit job working at his garage in Charming. Showing up a month after his release not quite trusting that the offer had been sincere, Happy was surprised when he introduced himself to Piney Winston, a gruff, mean son of a bitch who quickly asked, "What the fuck took you so long?" Shoving a T-M work shirt at him, the old man continued, "We've been waiting on you, asshole! Now get to work!" The rest, as some would say, was history.

It was only after arriving in Charming that Happy learned that JT and Clay weren't just Harley enthusiasts, but officers of the Sons of Anarchy Motorcycle Club Redwood Original. Soon after he and Clay had returned from Chino, JT offered to sponsor Happy and even though he suffered many humiliations and indignities at the hands of Club members, it was during his time as a Prospect that Happy learned for the first time what it felt like to belong somewhere. After he patched in, his new band of brothers sealed his bond to them when they helped Happy track down his mother's would-be rapist so he could finish the task that had landed him in Chino in the first place. As a result, Happy earned his first smiley face tattoo.

Because of his deep level of commitment to the Club and the man that had been such a force in his life, Happy felt an obligation to avenge what had been done to JT's son. They shared a patch for over ten years now and in that time Happy had come to know and respect the man Jax Teller had become. Despite his youth and pussy-chasing ways, it was clear to Happy that Jax was a force to be reckoned with, just like his father. Not only did he have an unconditional and fierce love for the Club, but Jax had more than his fair share of brains and the brawn to handle his shit.

Now that Jax would soon rejoin their group, Happy was more determined than ever to protect his family and his brotherhood.

No matter what the cost.

* * *

_**Stockton State Penitentiary, CA – Friday, June 12, 2009** _

"It's the best play, son," Clay said soberly as he looked Jax in the eye. "You know I'm right."

The two men were sitting side-by-side on the bottom bunk in their cell. It was time for lights out on the cell block but in spite of the dim darkness, the inmates were as usual bullshitting and carrying on, deaf to several warnings issued by the guards. It was still noisy enough that Clay and Jax could have a conversation and not be overheard.

"I know you are, Clay. I just hope you realize the risks involved and the many ways shit could go wrong, that's all," Jax replied quietly.

In the darkness, the SAMCRO President's eyes widened. Had he not been sitting down, he prolly would have fallen on his ass upon hearing his VP's statement. Having spent the last couple of months hammering out the details of a deal with the Cartel, Clay had been sure that despite his hard work, Jax would have been dead set against it.

"I have to admit," Clay started, "I'm surprised you're on board with this. After all, this is definitely big league shit, a whole different ball game for the Club."

 _No one is as surprised as I am right now_ , Jax thought grimly. _But in order to put change in motion, the Club's gonna need to bank as much as possible._

Having spent over three months in the prison infirmary had given Jax nothing but time to come up with a feasible plan. Getting a breather from possible reprisals by the ROC because of Clay's deal with Alvarez for protection had been what he needed to concentrate on his plans going forward.

Although Alvarez had come through rather quickly on his end of the deal, Clay had been forced to move forward on securing a peace treaty with Victor Putlova without Jax's input. Even with protection from the Double M, the Sons still felt the need to look over their shoulders as long as they were in Stockton.

Putlova played hardball with Clay, insisting on a peace treaty under his terms. Hearing that the Club had voted on letting that the lowlife motherfucker make off with 80% of the RIRA stock until the Sons got out of prison had been a real pisser. It would mean that that the Sons would only recoup 20% of the stock, meaning it would take SAMCRO a long time to amass the funds they needed for their future.

A future where the MC was no longer outlaw.

In spite of the risks involved, learning how the new deal with the Galindo Cartel was going to line their pockets with cash had been the news Jax had needed to hear. The more risk involved, the greater the return and as far as he was concerned, Jax was ready to support the devil himself if it meant that at the end of the day he would be able to provide for his family legitimately in Charming and without worrying about dying in prison some day.

Even in the darkness Jax could see how surprised his stepfather was to hear he would back him in this new venture. It had taken a life-altering experience like almost dying to make Jax realize that their constant butting of heads over the last few years had paved a direct path for them into Stockton. Jax still believed that there were times when Clay had made the wrong call, especially in the case of Donna's unnecessary death. In hindsight, however, Jax knew that Clay loved the Club and his brothers and had only done what he had thought was best at the time.

Besides, Jax couldn't deny that he loved the old bastard. The fact was that Clay had been as much a part of his life as his own father since he could remember. JT's best friend and VP had taken him under his wing early on, especially when it seemed that JT was practically living in Ireland and most certainly after Thomas' death. Nevertheless, after John Teller died, it hadn't been an easy pill to swallow having Clay move in on his mother. Jax's rebelliousness back then as a teenager was proof of his resentment towards SAMCRO's new President and his new stepfather. Clay, however, never wavered in the love he had for his new family. Instead of treating Jax like an inconvenience, he took to raising him as his own, grooming him to be next in line for the gavel.

Turning to Clay in the darkness, Jax cleared his throat. "I'm sure we can handle doing business with the Cartel. SAMCRO trusts your judgment and in spite of everything that's gone down between us, so do I. We'll vote this deal through and make it out of here in another ten months. _Then_ we can deal with Putlova."

"You can best believe that, son." Clay clapped a beefy hand on Jax's shoulder. "Shit's gonna get handled. I promise."

* * *

_There ain't jack shit you can do about it now, so you might as well stop worrying about it._

Lying on the top bunk, Clay found that he was unable to sleep at all. The cell block had finally quieted down and all he could hear were the sounds of the other inmates snoring or jerking off.

Misrepresenting the truth concerning the full scope of the deal with the Cartel had been a necessary evil. There had been no wiggle room to negotiate and ultimately no way Clay could have said no to trafficking drugs from the Cartel to the Mayans for cutting and distribution. It was an all or nothing deal and Clay had no choice. It had to be all.

And not just for their protection in Stockton, but for the future of the Club itself.

The reality of the situation was that Clay was getting old. He was still a powerful and healthy son of a bitch and could still ride, but for how long? His hands were going to force him to give up the gavel sooner rather than later and, after over 40 years of living the outlaw life, he had nothing to show for it.

_I can't leave the Life empty-handed._

Hospital fees, legal fees, bad deals—you name it—had left the Morrow family coffers bare. With all the recent troubles, it seemed that the faster the gun money came in, the quicker it left the palm of his beefy hand. There was nothing by way of a retirement fund for himself and Gemma. All he had was his part of the garage and the house. Both were fully paid for, but that was it.

Right now the garage was the Club's only legit and thriving business thanks to Clay's management skills and his expertise in the field of auto mechanics. But as his hands continued to deteriorate, there was no way he would be able to actively work on cars. Besides, while the garage had proven to be a good source of income during the lean years, it still couldn't compare to the money he earned by running guns. His double-damned arthritic mitts were going to force him to step down from running the Club soon, and his days of earning big would be over.

That was why this deal with the Cartel had proven to be a blessing in disguise. In a year, two tops, Clay would be able to clear enough to keep him and Gemma in comfort for the rest of their lives. He had made too many sacrifices for the Club to step away from a deal that could—in one fell swoop—give him everything he needed to live out the rest of his life in comfort. That's why now more than ever Clay needed Jax on board for this initial vote. The boy was smart and a born leader. The chances were greater that the Club would follow Jax's lead on the matter, especially taking into consideration the recent number of bad calls Clay had made on behalf of the Club. Had he listened to his VP, he and his brothers wouldn't have to endure their current lackluster lodging accommodations, a point that he would never publicly admit to.

The fact remained, however, that the Cartel money they could potentially haul in had been a side benefit. The only reason Clay had reached out to Alvarez in the first place was to protect Jackson. The boy had gone through enough, too much, in fact. Clay clenched his painful fists into angry knots as he considered just how close to death Jax had been. That loss would not have just devastated his old lady but Clay as well. As much as Clay hated the thought of relinquishing his seat at the head of the table, he had spent too many years grooming Jax, training him to carry on the legacy of the Club only for him to die even before he could take up the gavel.

Resting his head on the meager pillow, Clay closed his eyes. _What's done is done, for now_ , he thought, figuring he would deal with the repercussions of the drug deal on the outside. _What's the worst that can happen_?


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sons of Anarchy. I do, however, own Marlowe and any other OCs that appear in the Two Sons Universe.**

* * *

_**Charming, CA – Friday, August 21, 2009** _

_I never thought I'd find myself sitting in this chair_ , Opie Winston thought wryly as he looked around the table at his brothers, the gavel lying next to his right hand.

The vibe around the lot and the Clubhouse were definitely different since the departure of several key SAMCRO members. He missed them all, but Opie couldn't deny that on some level he was enjoying the tranquility of the moment.

A time for peace and clarity had been a long time coming for the mother charter after a year of non-stop violence and bloodletting.

 _And tears_.

In examining his life, Opie couldn't remember wanting anything more than being a member of his father's MC, a Club he had grown up loving.

But as much joy as he got out of being a part of a brotherhood of bikers over the years, it had also been responsible for causing him much pain. Opie had made his sacrifices for the Club, had served a stretch of time that had nearly destroyed his marriage and family. He had survived broken bones and gunshot wounds and had lost a number of brothers along the way, but nothing had ever shaken his allegiance to the Club like the death of his wife.

Thanks to his best friend Jax and his expertly plotted plan to vanquish all enemies of SAMCRO, Opie had been able to extract his pound of flesh from the one responsible for Donna's death: Special Agent June Stahl. But if he had hoped to achieve a measure of closure by emptying a clip into the back of the Agent's head, Opie quickly learned that he would be sorely disappointed.

Stahl may have been the mastermind behind the plot to set him up as a rat, but it was his brothers—Clay and Tig—that had taken the bait dangled before them. Together they conspired and made a decision that ultimately cost Donna her life and had forced Opie to question his loyalty to the Club. Jax's insistence that he read John Teller's manuscript had gone a long way in helping Opie decide to stick by the Club. Knowing that one day the Club that had gone so wayward off course would be in their hands gave him enough of a reason to make staying worthwhile. Once again, his brother Jax had gifted him with the will to go on.

Earlier in the year, however, it seemed unlikely that they would ever get the chance to run the Club together. The attack commissioned by Putlova on Jax had almost put an end to their boyhood dream and had sent shock waves through those brothers remaining at the table. Knowing that Jax was now on the mend, Opie held fast to his determination to keep the Club solvent and have a plan for retaliation ready to set in motion on the day his brothers were released from Stockton.

With much to cover in order to make that happen, Opie slammed the gavel and looked around the table at his brothers. The table seemed strangely empty as he looked at Chibs sitting on his right, Kozik on his left and his ornery father, who had stubbornly settled himself in his chair at the opposite end of the table.

"So," Opie drawled, "are we all in agreement to patch Miles in?"

Chibs leaned back in his chair as he lit a cigarette. "I'm thinkin' dere's no question tha' we hav' tae, lad. He's proved himself and we canna wait for 'im to complete a full year as a Prospect. We need bodies and we need dem yesterday."

"Maybe," Piney started, his voice gruff. Wheezing slightly, he reached to turn the notch up on his portable oxygen tank. "But him fuckin' shit up because he wasn't ready, that would be the bigger problem."

"What do you think, Koz?" Opie eyed the blond patch.

Having only recently patched in himself, Kozik took a moment to weigh his words carefully before speaking. Knowing that he was bound to catch enough shit from Tig for taking the backdoor into SAMCRO while he was in Stockton, Kozik wanted to make sure his decision was based solely on Miles' character, not the need for more men at the table. "He's a cool head and can handle his shit under pressure," Kozik started. "He's a quick study, too. Can practically assemble an AK with his eyes closed."

"Already sounds better than his ginormous friend," Chibs added, referring to Filthy Phil. "At least he don't have himself a set of big, fat, meaty butter-fucking-fingers."

The men around the table nodded as they rolled their eyes and recalled a recent run where the overly-large and clumsy Prospect had dropped a case of AKs during an exchange with Laroy's crew, busting the crate wide open.

Opie nodded. "I agree with Kozik. I sponsored him, trained him and vetted him myself. I think he's ready to handle the weight of responsibility." He picked up the gavel. "All those in favor?"

As his brothers nodded, with Piney reluctantly shrugging his shoulders before giving his assent, Opie slammed the gavel down.

"Done," he declared. Looking at Chibs, Opie nodded. "Now that we've lost a Prospect and gained a brother, I hear you have a couple of hang-arounds you wanna recommend."

"Since Half Sack died and tha' pussy coward Shepherd run off, pickins have been slim 'round da Clubhouse, but I've bin watchin' Ratboy and V-Lin. Dey both seem hungry for da opportunity," Chibs explained. "I kno' tha' Jax and Clay had bin interested in Ratboy fer sure."

Opie sighed. All this administrative bullshit was a nuisance, but it had to be done. "Yeah, I've seen them around, _a lot_. Have they been vetted?"

"Juicy Boy looked into dem a bit before he went inside." Chibs flipped through the paperwork that he had in a file in front of him. "Dey look legit."

"I can count on you to put them through their paces?" Opie eyed him.

"I will run dem intae da fuckin' ground, brutha!" Chibs enthused.

"I want some of that action, too," Kozik chipped in. "Nothing I love more than making a Prospect cry."

"All right, let's vote it," Opie suggested.

The meeting continued for another thirty minutes as they tackled an assortment of housekeeping issues, including the garage and the Club's continued efforts to get the insurance company to pay for the warehouse destroyed by Darby and his crew. Soon after, they moved on to matters that had the potential to impact the Club's earning capability.

"So what's the score with the new lawman in town?" Opie asked Kozik as he lit another cigarette.

"His name's Eli Roosevelt, formerly with Oakland PD's gang unit," Kozik started. "He's been pretty quiet so far, but word is Charming PD's old station house has been flooded with an influx of new deputies. I'm actually kinda of surprised they haven't paid us a visit yet."

"No need to go borrowing trouble," Piney stated. "I'm sure they'll come sniffing around soon enough. I'll reach out to Unser, though. See if he has any Intel to share."

"How's he doin'? I've nae seen him 'round," Chibs asked.

"Gem keeps in touch with him. Now that he's been forced out as Chief of Charming PD, he's been spending time building up his trucking business," Piney replied.

"Business must be slow," Opie noted. "He hasn't called on us to do any protection runs in months."

Piney snorted. "Maybe the Club's too small for his needs now."

Opie didn't like the sound of that. "Chibs, reach out to Unser and see what's going on," he suggested.

"Will do, brutha."

Opie sighed and ran a large hand through his long hair. "I know you're all probably anxious to hear about my visit with Jax yesterday. Well, I finally have something to share regarding this deal that Clay wants to bring to the table."

"I hope it's good. Wit' Putlova takin' da bulk of our stock, money's a rare commodity these days, brutha," Chibs said.

"And I thought shit was tight in Tacoma, but this shit right here is goddamn ridiculous," Kozik chimed in. "Whatever this deal is, I hope it includes a way to get Putlova off our backs. Instead of paying these Russian pricks restitution, we should be making _them_ pay for what they did to Jax."

"According to what Jax was able to share, this deal's gonna kill two birds with one stone," Opie replied quietly and for the next several minutes filled them in on what little Jax was able to pass on during his visit.

"I don't like it," Piney stated emphatically. The grouchy patch picked up his shot glass and knocked back the contents. "Any buyer from Mexico in need of that kind of heavy artillery can mean only one thing. It's a fuckin' cartel."

"You're prolly right, Pop, and it's a huge risk," Opie stated. "But in the end, they're just customers. They want guns, we have guns. And if they have the type of connections that Jax says they have, we'll have protection when we go after Putlova and his crew."

Without being able to speak freely about the deal while sitting in the middle of Stockton's crowded Visitor's Center, a part of Opie was surprised by Jax's commitment to this new endeavor. Especially since the idea of getting deeper into gun running only to back away from it later wasn't making a whole lot of sense to the Club's gentle giant and Acting President.

"And we're tae start business wit' dem now, lad? How, wit' Putlova gettin' all da stock?" Chibs questioned.

"The deal won't come into play until they get out of Stockton and only after Putlova is out of the picture," Opie replied.

"Can't wait," Kozik clapped his hands together. "So what's the plan?"

"Jax and Clay are working on it. I'm sure once we vote on it, they'll be able to focus on the logistics. In the meantime, knowing what we know, we need to figure out where we each stand on this new deal. Clay wants a vote on it soon." Opie paused as he looked around the table. "Unless anybody has any other business, I think were done," he shrugged and slammed the gavel down.

* * *

Walking through the Chapel doors, Opie headed straight to the bar, sorely in need of a drink.

Signaling to Filthy Phil, the Prospect poured four fingers of Jack into a glass and lining up more shots and beers, served the rest of the brothers as they crowded around the bar.

Chibs watched quietly as his powerfully built brother easily knocked back the entire contents of his glass. "Yer seem tae need dat, brutha," he said as he picked up his own shot of Jameson.

Opie pointed a large index finger at his empty glass and called for a refill. Grabbing his drink, he silently motioned with a nod of his head for Chibs to follow him outside. Taking a seat on top of the picnic table, Opie waited as his brother followed suit. "This is some really weird shit we're having to deal with now, Chibs."

The older man eyed him thoughtfully. He wasn't at all surprised that the younger man was feeling the heavy weight of leadership on his shoulders. Taking the reigns of an organization like SAMCRO was not for the faint of heart under any circumstances. Chibs could only imagine that strain being tenfold with the MC at its weakest. There was no doubt in his mind, however, that Opie was more than capable of taking care of business, despite all the shite he had endured over the past year.

"Aye, it is, but we're gonna come through on da other side of it all," Chibs declared as Opie eyed him with a furrowed brow. "You gotta believe tha', brutha. You don't, other members will see cracks in da foundation and before ya know it, da whole shyte collapses 'round us."

Opie nodded as he stared at the contents of his glass. "I know, but shit is sure different from the other side of that gavel. I just keep waiting for some good shit to happen for a change and it never does."

"I wouldna say neva', brutha. Yer been keeping yer bride waiting at da altar a long time," Chibs teased. "Mayhap yer ought to marry her now."

"Can't do that without my brother," Opie said easily, "and Lyla's okay with waiting until the guys get out."

"Aye, so it's only a few more months of freedom fer ya befor' ya properly leg-shackled." Chibs pursed his lips. Considering all that Opie had gone through, it was almost hard to believe that he had lost his young wife almost a year ago. Chibs wondered if marrying again so soon was what the younger man really wanted and so he asked him. "Are ya sure dat's wha' ya wanna do, Ope?"

Sipping his drink, Opie was quiet for a long moment. He had avoided asking himself that same question for months now, convinced that it just made sense that he and Lyla tie the knot. Opie felt like he needed a fresh start and what he wanted was some sort of family life again. Confronted by the doubt Chibs' question ignited, he couldn't help but wonder if Lyla was the right fit for his crazy, outlaw life.

Opie narrowed his eyes as he caught sight of Tara in a black tank top and a pair of green scrubs talking to Lowell outside the garage. A pediatric surgeon, Jax's old lady was Lyla's polar opposite in every way.

 _Except one_ , Opie thought as he watched Tara head back to the office with a clipboard of paperwork.

Opie was actually surprised to see Tara on the lot. He had known the young doctor since high school and, unlike his best friend, Opie hadn't been taken by surprise when Tara had picked up and left Charming and Jax almost eleven years ago. Back then, Club life had been less complicated for Jax and Opie as relatively new patches and Tara still had trouble coping with it. Now that she was back, if her way of coping with Club life was to stay away from it and pretend it didn't exist, Opie knew from painful experience that shit wasn't going to work out for neither Tara or Jax. At least Lyla tried, which was something Donna had refused to do. Still, Opie couldn't help but wonder what would happen if Lyla ever found herself in Tara's shoes with _three_ children to care for instead of one and an old man in prison. With a barely audible sigh, Opie acknowledged knowing that Lyla would crumble under the weight of all that.

Instead of unburdening himself on his brother, Opie slapped on a smile as he swallowed his feelings of apprehension.

"I'm sure," he said with false confidence.

* * *

_**Stockton State Penitentiary, CA – Saturday, September 26, 2009** _

_Some shit just never changes,_ Gemma Teller-Morrow thought as she walked into Stockton Prison's Visitor's Center.

The medium-sized room was crowded with tables and gray metal chairs. The barred and gated windows did their job in keeping the inmates in, but they also did a fairly good job in keeping the room dreary by keeping the sunlight out. The walls were drab and dirty and the only visible joy in the room was painted on the faces of the inmates as they visited with their loved ones.

Gemma, however, never let the starkness of such facilities get her down. Over the years, she had walked through the doors of more than her fair share of prisons to visit JT, Clay, her son and a variety of other Club members. Taking care of loved ones was what Gemma did best and visiting imprisoned loved ones was a part of that, a part of the life she loved and, as matriarch of the mother charter, she had come to accept. It was something that Tara had yet come to grips with, Gemma noted, sighing inwardly as she watched the young doctor make her way over to her son as she carried Abel in her arms.

It would be a bittersweet reunion Gemma knew and, deciding to give them some time alone, went off to the far corner to where her old man was waiting for her.

 _He looks tired_ , Gemma thought as she walked towards Clay, who stood up bearing a grin that was threatening to split his face in two. _He looks older, too. This place is doing a hell of a number on my family._

Determined to be a rock for her old man, Gemma tamped down her anxiety and embraced her old man, grinning as one of his hands managed to find a home on her ass, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"I guess someone's happy to see me," she whispered huskily.

"You guessed right, Gem," Clay replied as he pulled away from Gemma and looked into her brown eyes. "You guessed right."

* * *

Thoughts of his family back home in Charming kept Jax whole while living in the purgatory that was prison. They were all he could think about as plans for their future consumed his every waking moment. It was almost like Jax was going through the motions of living in between visits with his old lady and son. Stockton was robbing him of his humanity, bringing him to the point where he relished the pain he had felt when Tara had hugged him. Even 5½ months after the attack, Jax was still in the process of healing and suffering from a considerable amount of pain. But physical pain was good because it meant he was still alive, even though his heart felt like a dead weight in his chest.

Jax waited for the feeling of euphoria to kick in as he held the warm little body of his one-year old son in his arms for the first time in months. The moment, however, was proving bittersweet for Jax as a shadow crossed his face and his eyes fell to his old lady's flat stomach and empty arms—arms that should have been holding what would have been their two-week old newborn. His family was incomplete and he was to blame. Acknowledging the role he had played in the death of their unborn baby was painful, and _that_ kind of pain was not good.

Jax wasn't a man who suffered failure easily. When he set his mind to something, he never left any room for it. In his world, failure more often than not meant death and he had failed Tara the moment he had pushed her away. Abel's kidnapping had left him grief-stricken and feeling lost. In hindsight, Jax could finally admit to himself that he had bitterly resented his old lady, believing she had not done enough to protect his son. That resentment had left Tara and, unknown to him, their unborn son unprotected and vulnerable.

Tara had lost the pregnancy during her time being held captive by Hector Salazar and his old lady, but there was no way Jax couldn't blame himself. The loss had nearly crushed him and almost prevented him from staying focused in order to bring to a conclusion all the events he had set in motion to free his mother, get Jimmy O and end Stahl.

Going inside literally two days after returning from Belfast, there had been no time to grieve together. Even though he had sincerely apologized for the hell he had put her through before leaving for Ireland, Jax couldn't believe that not only had Tara chosen to stay in Charming, but was raising Abel while he did his time. Jax wouldn't have blamed her if had she left. Although he had only witnessed his mother's grief when Tommy had died, Jax now knew what it felt like to lose a child.

With Tara having paid the ultimate price, however, there was a part of Jax that wondered if starting over when he got out of prison was truly possible. He wondered if Tara, who was so good at hiding her true emotions, resented him for the loss of their child like he had resented her after Abel's kidnapping. Even though Jax knew she had every right to, he hoped she didn't because after all they had already been through, he believed they could overcome anything.

Looking up from the book he was reading to Abel, Jax's clear blue eyes met Tara's dark green ones. She smiled at him sadly and suddenly Jax wasn't so sure anymore that they could.

* * *

"Clay, how is Jax doing? _Really?_ " Gemma asked as her eyes wandered to the little family on the opposite side of the room. Abel was now sitting happily on his father's lap, their heads close together as Jax held open a small book he was quietly reading from while Tara watched.

"He's doing fine, Gem. As well as can be expected," Clay replied as he placed a large hand over hers.

"I worry about him, you know, about all of you in this shit hole, but Jax—" Gemma stopped as she suddenly found her lips trembling and tightened them. "He almost died, baby," she could barely bring herself to say aloud.

"I know and believe me, there _will be_ payback," her old man assured her quietly after one of the C.O.'s walked by and repositioned himself against the far wall. "We've got seven more months in here, sweetheart, but I promise you that we're all gonna make it out of this alive." Clay focused his steely blue eyes on Gemma's. "We've got protection and I have shit in play. We're gonna be all right in _every way_ that matters," he said evenly.

Gemma nodded. After more than 15 years of marriage, and knowing Clay for over 30 years, she had learned to read between the lines. He was being as clear as he could, considering his present circumstances. She could only hope that the plans he had in motion gave her the satisfaction of knowing that the men responsible for gutting her son paid and paid bloody.

It was a situation the Queen knew she had to suck up and get over. She needed to have faith that her boys could handle their shit and watch each other's backs going forward. Meanwhile, back in Charming, Gemma had her own situation to deal with that she needed to discuss with her old man.

"I'm worried about Tara," Gemma admitted.

Clay sighed and rubbed a hand over his hair. "She having a hard time?"

"Actually, no. She's handling her job down at the hospital quite well. Even helped Chucky run the garage while I was under house arrest and drops by on occasion to lend a hand when we're busy. It's just that I know what it's like to lose a child," Gemma said and, feeling the familiar ache in her heart, paused. "She sidesteps any discussion about the miscarriage. Her due date came and went and _nothing_. I think she's in denial."

"Can you blame her, Gem?" Clay shook his head as he looked at her soberly. "Considering the circumstances, living in denial is prolly Tara's way of protecting herself. It ain't been easy for Jax either. I know in his heart he blames himself, but the last thing he wants to do is talk about it. They didn't have time to mourn the loss together. You just need to give her time and keep her together until we get out. Things are looking up for the Club, baby, I promise you. Her losing our grandchild, it's a bad knock, but she's gone through a lot of shit and she's still around."

"This time," Gemma allowed.

Clay's eyebrows rose into his hairline. "You thinking she's gonna jump ship again?"

"I don't know," Gemma stopped then started again. "I don't think so, but there's no way for me to know for sure. It's not just the baby she's not talking about, it's _everything_. I just can't get a read on her, but I _know_ there's something she's not telling me."

"Did ya ever stop to think that maybe she's not telling you because it's none of your business?" Her old man asked with a smile. "Just sayin'."

"Shut up," Gemma groused as she playfully swatted at his hands. "When are you gonna learn that _everything's_ my business?"

"Sorry, sweetheart. I must have lost my mind there for a second," Clay kidded. "Look, all I'm saying is don't go setting any fires when there's nothing to burn. Tara's stuck around this long. She's not gonna bail on Jax now."

Gemma nodded and then quickly changed the subject. In the back of her mind and in her heart, however, she wasn't convinced.

* * *

Stockton State Penitentiary was about a thirty-minute drive back to Charming. Looking in the rear view mirror, Tara watched Gemma sitting in the back seat as she fed her grandson a snack of Goldfish crackers and apple juice. Finding herself staring longer than she had expected, Tara moved her eyes back to the road and found that she had inadvertently crossed the double yellow line into the next lane. She gripped the steering wheel until her knuckles were white and gently maneuvered the cobalt blue Nissan Rouge back into her lane as other vehicles moved around and past her.

The rush hour traffic around her seemed like a fitting metaphor for her life. It often seemed to Tara that she was on a never-ending road where other people were constantly on the move, cutting her off and doing reckless shit, forcing her to repeatedly change her route, always feeling like she would never make it to her final destination.

Allowing herself to revisit the last few hours, Tara face tightened. With Jax more than halfway through his sentence, she realized that her visits to Stockton were getting harder, not easier. Thinking of how she had nearly lost him only a month into his sentence brought tears to her eyes, which she quickly dashed away, stealing a look into the rear view to make sure Gemma couldn't see her.

As was the norm as of late, with the tears came an overwhelming sense of guilt. Although she loved Jax, a small part of her—a part she was ashamed to admit to herself existed—wished that he hadn't pulled through. Her heart would have suffered irreparable damage, but leaving Charming behind once and for all would have been that much easier.

Tara loved Jax, but the truth was she wished she didn't. If she could stop, she would because her life would be so much easier if she _just didn't_.

Tara twisted her lips, remembering the choices she had made in hopes of making a clean break from Charming and from Jax. Leaving would have been so simple too, especially with Jax going inside and the baby she had been carrying no longer an issue. But she had been weak and had believed him every time he said shit would get better. Regardless what Gemma thought to the contrary, Tara knew Jax didn't believe that anymore than she did.

 _I chose to believe him_ , Tara thought bitterly as she negotiated through traffic. _And I have no one to blame but myself_.

Tara remembered asking Gemma if shit would ever slow down for the MC, just stop long enough to give her a chance to catch her breath. Well, shit had finally slowed down, giving Tara ample time to think things through and re-examine the decisions she made and realized that she had made all the wrong ones.

Allowing her eyes to briefly look down and to the right, Tara eyed her handbag sitting next to her on the passenger seat. Having changed her mind yet again about giving Jax the ticking time bomb she had found in his backpack after he returned from Ireland, Tara gripped the steering wheel and refocused her attention on the road.

Determined to make the right call this time around, Tara decided to keep what she found a secret, hoping that almost dying in prison had been enough of a wake up call for Jax. Once he got out, she would broach the subject of them leaving Charming _together_ and the explosive content of those letters would only work against that. The last thing she wanted to do was give Jax another reason to stay.

But if Tara had learned one thing since her return to Charming it was that nothing ever went according to plan. Somehow she knew that getting rid of those letters was as big a mistake as giving them to Jax would be.

 _What would Gemma do?_ she thought with a slight smirk. Having read the letters and knowing Gemma Teller-Morrow all too well, Tara knew exactly what Gemma would do and decided to do the exact opposite.

Tara would hold onto JT's letters to Maureen Ashby for now. What she had discovered within had been buried so deep that proof in John's own hand would be needed to ground the far-fetched in reality and there was no telling when delivering a healthy dose of reality would come in handy down the road.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sons of Anarchy. I do, however, own Marlowe and any other OCs that appear in the 2 Sons Universe.**

* * *

_**Stockton State Penitentiary, CA – Wednesday, October 21, 2009** _

There was nothing Happy hated more than doing fuckin' laundry. In all of his 43 years, he was proud to say that with the exception of a six month period of his life, he never had to wash his own clothes.

Like the good Cuban mother she took pride in being, Amelia—as many women had since the dawn of time—catered to her only son's every need. As a result, as far as Happy knew, when his clothes got dirty, he would drop them in the vicinity of the hamper in his bathroom and they would magically reappear clean and neatly folded in the chest of drawers in his bedroom. It was just the way it was in most Hispanic households and, as far as Happy was concerned, it was the right and proper way of the world.

In making the move to Charming to take JT up on his job offer, being expected to do his own laundry had been something akin to culture shock. To this day, Happy still felt a certain amount of embarrassment at how JT's old lady had taken him to task because he couldn't figure out how to use the washing machine located at the far end of the long hall of dorm rooms in the Clubhouse.

"I _never_ would have pegged you as a Mama's boy," the tall platinum-streaked brunette had scolded, shaking her head disdainfully as she helped him properly sort his laundry. "You can't expect to last too long around here as a prospect if you can't handle the mundane shit like washing your funky drawers, so you better watch me close 'cause I'm only showing you once."

Being formally introduced to JT's old lady, Happy had taken Piney's gruff admonition to make sure he showed the woman proper respect. So far, it had been easy enough as he went about his business in the garage during his first week in town. His interactions with Gemma Teller had been limited to handing over completed work orders and such in the T-M office, but he wasn't blind and he was a fuckin' man after all. As JT's wife, Happy showed Gemma the respect she no doubt had earned, but that didn't mean he hadn't had his fill of checking her out. The woman was definitely a looker and carried herself around with more grace and dignity than the scantily-clad women he had seen hanging around the lot.

Happy had frowned as the woman continued to separate his clothing. "A _prospect_? What's that?" he queried.

Gemma had aimed a pair of dark brown eyes filled with secret knowledge and grinned at him cheekily. "Oh, baby, if I know my husband, you'll find out soon enough," she drawled. "I'm sure John will fill you in on the details once he gets out. What I will tell you is that on this lot, only patched members get privileged services," she pointed a ringed index finger at him. "Remember that."

And so Happy had no choice but to learn how to do his own laundry, and fast. As a result, much like everything else he's ever undertaken the task of learning, Happy became quite proficient at taking care of his own shit. Just like Gemma had said, however, Happy learned soon after patching in and officially moving into a dorm that membership certainly had its privileges. The day he had rode onto the lot with his top rocker proudly on display was the last day Happy had to worry about clean clothes, or just about anything else for that matter, ever again.

A hot piece of brunette ass croweater had approached him with a beer for him in hand and a proposition on her lips. "I am here to take care of you, handsome, in _any_ way you need . . . that is, if you wouldn't mind taking care of _my_ dirty little needs first," she had offered coyly.

Even though today Happy couldn't remember her name to save his life (or maybe he never even knew it to begin with), he knew for a fact that he never had a problem giving the croweater what she wanted. Happy was pretty damn sure that from that day on, he had never again set his eyes on a fuckin' washer and dryer, much less had the need to know how to use them as one croweater always replaced another in taking care of his basic needs. At this point in his life, Happy certainly had no interest or reason to relearn the homemaking skills gleaned off of Gemma Teller so many years ago.

Privileges may come with the patch, but neither the patch nor those privileges followed Happy inside. Instead of having croweaters eager to bend over backwards to do his bidding—and in more ways than just doing his laundry—for the first time in years Happy found himself at the mercy of some dipshit supervisor in the prison's laundry facility. Four days a week, Happy was just one of the beck-and-call bitches working in the laundry, while the other two days a week he worked in the Chow Hall. Seeing what was done to both the laundry and the food, Happy wasn't sure which detail was worse.

The only good that came from hauling around the large heavy carts of rank and dirty sheets and clothes was that it helped to keep his ass in shape. Wiping the sweat from his brow, Happy made his way to the one of the huge industrial-sized washing machines and started dumping the contents of one of the canvas carts into it when he heard someone shout his name over the noise made by the machines and other inmates as they went about their daily duties.

"Lowman? Yo, get your ass downstairs," Dickey Jones, a longtime inmate with ancient skin the color of dry parchment and not nearly as smooth yelled before finally spotting Happy. Dickey—also known as Dickhead, primarily because of his fondness for playing with that particular part of his anatomy—was second-in-command of the morning shift. Regardless, most inmates paid little attention to the annoying and creepy little shit.

"What the fuck for?" Happy replied irritably as he continued to dump the dirty clothes into the washer.

"Cause you got a visitor, asshole," Dickey retorted.

Stopping, Happy turned to face the pipsqueak who had finally made his way over to stand in front of him. "Who?" he asked guardedly.

Dickey threw his hands up in the air. "How the fuck should I know, huh? Do I look like a fuckin' receptionist to you?" Looking at his watch, Dickey squinted. "It's near enough to lunch time. Go see about it and get your ass back here after chow." Turning to another inmate, the supervisor motioned for him to take over Happy's task before looking for someone else to harass.

Side-stepping the cart, Happy slowly made his way to the entrance of the laundry room where one of the bulls was waiting impatiently to escort him to the Visitor's Center. Although his face never betrayed his feelings, inside Happy felt the pit of dread he lived with while in Stockton form into a tight ball in his stomach.

There was only one person who would even think about coming to see him and Marlowe was unlikely to do it of her own free will. That is, unless fate had forced her hand by making a face-to-face visit necessary. Wary that that was the case, Happy steeled himself for news that was unlikely to be good and prepared to hear that his worst nightmare had come true.

* * *

With her long legs crossed underneath the scarred metal table, Marlowe impatiently bounced her combat booted foot as she looked at her watch. Again.

Knowing only too well how government run institutions operated did very little to quell her anxiety. So far, she had been kept waiting close to thirty minutes in the dingy and depressing Visitor's Center with no sign of Happy. To keep herself from dwelling on the possibility that something was wrong, Marlowe concentrated on the fact that she should be pissed off at Happy instead.

After all, the 3½-hour drive from Bakersfield in her busted-ass vehicle had been anything but pleasant and easy. Nearly a third of the way, the Ford Escort had started making a clanking noise from deep within the engine block that had her convinced that she had spent hard earned money for the privilege of dying horribly in a death trap on wheels. She cursed herself for not using Tía's foreign-made car for the trip instead.

 _Me and my damn American pride will probably end up getting me killed one day_ , Marlowe lamented.

The realization that there would have been no need for her to make the trip at all if Happy would just pick up the phone and call home every once in a while did the trick. No longer nervous or anxious that something had happened to Happy, the righteous anger she had been nurturing for years against the man she loved like a brother returned full throttle. Left with snail mail as the only other vehicle of communication, Marlowe had been left with very little choice but to deliver the news in person. Although she dreaded paying Happy a visit behind bars, what she had to tell him was best said in person anyway.

It had taken her a couple of days to gear up for the stress of having to voluntarily enter a prison once again. It hadn't been an easy decision for Marlowe, but she realized that her feelings had much to do with her own issues than Happy himself.

Having spent the majority of her Naval career in hostile zones around the world, Marlowe decided to suck it up. Ignoring the catcalls and roving eyes of the inmates and bulls alike and with her head held high, she had made her way through the prison's secured entrance designated for all visitors and patiently waited her turn to be called into the room to finally see her big brother.

Unfortunately, it was painfully obvious that it had been quite some time since some of the inmates had laid eyes on a woman, as evidenced by the massive Skinhead sitting at one of the metal tables waiting for his visitor to enter. Walking past him, Marlowe suddenly felt the sting of a heavy hand slapping her on her denim clad ass.

Without a moment's hesitation—and before the C.O. standing guard against the wall near the entrance could intervene—Marlowe's combat training kicked in. Raising her right arm, she used her elbow as a battering ram and slammed it into the inmate's thick neck, striking a sensitive nerve, before she continued on her way to a table at the far end of the room.

A fierce grin spread across her face as she heard the piercing screech of pained surprise emanate from the Skinhead. Marlowe couldn't even be bothered to look back as a scuffle ensued with several guards tackling the suddenly enraged man as he lunged for her. As the large man was dragged out by three equally large guards, the room's other occupants, inmates and visitors alike, laughed uproariously.

"Are you okay, Miss?" Marlowe had looked up as a C.O. approached her table, noting the look of genuine concern on his face, as well as a barely hidden smirk of approval. He had obviously witnessed her "exchange" with the brutish inmate.

"Never better," Marlowe smiled beguilingly. "But if you could help me get my ass out of Dodge by seeing what's keeping my brother, I'd really appreciate it."

"I'll see what I can do about that," the C.O. said with a wry smile.

So Marlowe sat for another ten minutes wondering where the fuck Happy was and felt a sudden rush of relief when he finally walked in.

 _He looks good. Too bad about his outfit though_ , she thought amused. Wearing a light blue chambray linen shirt over a white undershirt, a pair of denim pants and slip-on shoes, Happy looked so unlike himself it was actually a little unnerving. Seeing him out of the ensemble she had associated with Happy since she was 10 years old—casually worn jeans, boots and the kutte he loved so much on his back—was strange and somewhat disconcerting, to say the least.

"Oh, I hope you didn't postpone a rousing game of shuffleboard on my account. It's not like I mind being kept waiting on your ass all damn day or anything," Marlowe mocked as Happy pulled a cheap metal chair away from the table and straddled it.

Focusing on the young woman sitting across from him, the grim expression on Happy's face didn't change as his dark eyes skimmed over her body. _Ma's right. She is too skinny._

"No, I was actually in the middle of a circle jerk and it was my turn to get my dick sucked," Happy retorted sarcastically. "What the fuck you doing here, Marley?" he asked without missing a beat.

Marlowe rolled her gray eyes flecked with gold. "Well, it's good seeing you too, Hap. I'm well. How are you?" she said with studied sweetness.

"I don't have time for small talk, little girl. Why did you come?" Happy insisted.

"I had no intention of coming, you see, but when I tried leaving a message with the Concierge, I was told to fuck off," Marlowe snarked. "I had no choice but to come see your ass in person since you can't be bothered to pick up a damn phone or write a letter."

Staring into Happy's hardened face, Marlowe sighed and decided that it was time to put an end to the snarkiness. She had come to Stockton with a purpose, but when she opened her mouth to explain the reason for her visit, her overwhelming concern for his well-being just slipped out. "How are you doing, Hap?"

Happy stared into her wide eyes, his heart tightening at the concern he saw on raw display. But as was his style, he quickly put the brakes on any sentimental bullshit. "Fuck how I'm doing, Marlowe. Why are you here instead of in Bakersfield?" he asked brusquely.

"As talkative as ever, I see," Marlowe mumbled under her breath as she turned her head to the side. Sighing with exasperation, Marlowe turned to look Happy again in the eye. "I'm here because I have some news that I thought you deserved to hear face-to-face," she replied soberly as she folded her hands on the table between them.

Bracing for impact, Happy nodded. "Give it to me straight," he said curtly.

Marlowe blinked several times in confusion until it finally dawned on her what "news" Happy was preparing himself to hear. "Oh, shit! No, asshole. Tía's fine," she smiled. "As a matter of fact, what I came to tell you is that she's in complete remission." Now it was Happy's turn to look confused as he narrowed his eyes at her. "That means there's no trace of cancer, Hap. It's gone and she's gonna be just fine."

As Marlowe's words registered as good news, Happy felt the weight of worry finally lift from his heart. Knowing how dangerously close he was to actually showing emotion, Happy simply nodded, not daring to speak. Marlowe, however, could see the emotion and relief making his eyes shine. Reaching out, she placed a gentle hand over his clenched fists lying on the table and smiled when he didn't pull away.

"So, was that worth you missing your turn for a blow job just so you could come down here to see my ugly mug?"

"No," Happy smirked, his eyes hardening again. "You coulda just written a damn letter."

And just that quickly, Marlowe's temper ignited. "You are such a fuckin' asshole!" she snapped angrily. "Not only did I forget what a pain in the ass you can be, but I'm an idiot for thinking that after ten years of not speaking, you might have changed some. You know, become more human."

Happy waved a hand at her dismissively. "Ditto, little girl. You're still the same cranky and hormonal teenage fuckin' lunatic you were back in the day," he retorted.

Marlowe swatted his hand away from her face. "You know, maybe I had it right all those years ago. Once I left, I should have just stayed gone," she sneered as she eyed him balefully. "I honestly don't know why I'd want to stick around for this shit."

"I don't give a shit why you stick around. All I know is that your ass is staying put in Bakersfield," Happy pointed a finger at her. "Don't think that Ma getting the all clear lets you off the hook. You're staying put until I get out."

"Why do you have to act like a prehistoric ape, asshole? I have no intention of leaving Tía," she said in an angry whisper as she noted several bulls looking in their direction. Last thing she wanted was to get thrown out without getting everything she had to say out.

Happy crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm just telling you how shit is gonna be is all."

Realizing that he was simply trying to goad her, Marlowe decided to switch back into messenger mode. "And I'm just trying to tell you that I'm not going anywhere as long as she needs me, and she needs me, Hap," she hedged, and watched as Happy's shoulders tensed.

"What ain't you telling me?"

"It's her knee," Marlowe started. "She's been regaining the weight she lost, which is a good thing, but it's taking its toll on her knee. She needs a replacement, but she's giving everyone a lot of shit about it because she doesn't want to do it."

"So the fuck what?" Happy said irritably. "If it's what her doctor recommends, she has no fuckin' choice, so don't give her one."

"That's easy for the _second_ most stubborn person I've ever known to say," Marlowe retorted. "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, Hap and no one's making Amelia do what she doesn't want to do. That's why I'm telling you this shit now, so once you get out, _you_ put your foot down and make her go through with it."

"Yeah, right! Like anyone can make that pig-headed Cuban woman do anything," he growled.

"Not anyone, Hap. _You_ ," Marlowe replied. "Otherwise, according to her orthopedic surgeon, she's got another year tops before she ends up in a wheelchair," she said soberly. "Less mobility will impact her quality of life . . . and may even shorten it."

Happy muttered several choice curses under his breath as he fought the urge to slam his fists onto the table. "Fine," Happy replied, his face firmly set. "I'll handle shit when I get out."

 _I figured you would_ , Marlowe smiled inwardly. _You ain't a kick ass biker for nothing._

"Anything else I should know?" Happy asked brusquely.

Marlowe shook her head. "No, but I would like something to take back to Tía. How's the joint treating you, old man? You safe inside? Doing time's a young man's game, you know," she snarked.

Thinking of his brother Jax who was still moving around on the slow side, Happy brushed off her concerns. "You can tell Ma I'm good, a'ight? So stop nagging," he replied as Marlowe narrowed her eyes at him. He couldn't tell if she was irked or examining him closely. Fuck if he knew how to read bitches. "And you might want to consider dropping a brother a line a little more often." Suddenly reaching over, Happy kissed Marlowe on the forehead before standing up. "I gotta go. Got shit to do."

Marlowe crossed her arms over her chest. "I drive nearly four fuckin' hours to see you and you're just gonna bounce?" Marlowe winced inwardly as she could hear the disappointment in her own voice.

"Time's wasting, little girl. The longer you stay here, the longer Ma is alone."

"Cut me some slack, will ya? Ceci's with her. I'm not a complete moron, you know."

"You joined the Navy didn't you?" came Happy's parting shot.

Marlowe pursed her lips and glared holes into the back of Happy's gleaming head as he cheerfully bopped his way out of the Visitor's Center.

"Good thing he's locked up," she groused under her breath as she stood up. "Otherwise I'd kill him."

* * *

Although the layout of the Chow Hall in Stockton Prison resembled a high school cafeteria, it was anything but. Instead of cliques of pimple-faced geeks, pretty boy heartthrobs, jocks and Lolitas, the Chow Hall was dominated by groups of hardened criminals of all shapes, sizes and races.

The smell of bland institutional cuisine mixed with the stench of sweaty men wafted through the cavernous room. The enormous cafeteria was designed to feed the 900-plus inmates that occupied each Cell Block three times a day.

Cell Block D's Chow Hall had a reputation to maintain. Housing some of the most violent and dangerous inmates in Stockton, there was always a fight or six for the guards to break up while the rest of the inmates went about their meal time business. After the fight instigated by Clay and which netted the participants two weeks in the hole, the Sons had returned to find that the guards had been newly-equipped with state-issued tasers to deal with unruly inmates. Needless to say, because the guards were sporting new hardware to use against the inmate population, the imprisoned Sons of Anarchy were not a particular favorite among all the crews inhabiting Stockton yard, especially since most guards seemed overly-fond of putting the tasers to use. Luckily, the Double M crew made sure the Sons suffered no reprisals.

Walking through the entrance of the Hall, Happy made his way over to one of the chow lines. There were two of them, one on each side of the large room. Set up cafeteria-style, inmates carried cardboard trays and moved down the line as other inmates wearing rubber gloves and hairnets slapped down large portions of the mediocre and tasteless food passing as the day's mid-day meal.

Trying not to think of his mother's Arroz con Pollo, Happy looked down at his lunch tray with barely contained disgust. As usual, his portion of chicken looked pale, underdone and rubbery with the white rice sitting next to it in a clumpy, sticky ball as a watery scoop of cold canned peas and carrots sloshed around its own sectioned off area of the tray. Grabbing a handful of sliced white bread from a tray at the end of the line, Happy headed over to the far end of the hall to find his brothers sitting at their usual table.

There were approximately 100 long and narrow tables with bench seats big enough to accommodate about 8 inmates uncomfortably in the cafeteria. With the tables practically piled onto one another and nearly sixty armed guards patrolling the aisles as well as the second story walkway, the not-so-inviting ambience did very little to take the inmates' minds off their never ending incarceration.

Shoving Juice over to the side and causing him to choke in mid-chew, Happy inserted his long, sleek frame onto the bench next to Tig.

"Where the fuck you been, bro?" Tig waved a half-eaten drumstick in the air.

"I had some shit that needed seeing to," Happy replied as he picked up his chicken breast and ripped into it.

 _Not even Ma's adobo seasoning could make this shit palatable_.

Happy dropped the chicken onto this tray, slightly disgusted by Bobby's display of half-chewed food as he ate and tried talking at the same time. "I heard you got called out of laundry detail."

Happy nearly rolled his eyes at the comment. The speed at which prison gossip traveled never ceased to amaze him, nor the fact that his brothers could probably give gossipy old biddies a run for their money.

It seemed, however, that Tig and Bobby weren't alone in their keen interest in Happy's affairs.

"I hope your visitor came bearing good news. We could sure use some of that shit around here." Sitting across the table and to Bobby's left, Jax Teller's blue eyes settled on Happy's dark ones.

"Shit," Happy blustered, "do you fuckers know the color of my boxers too?"

"Blue," Juice volunteered and felt his skin heat up with embarrassment as everyone laughed. " _What_? I _am_ his cell mate and as Intel officer it's my job to notice shit."

"You notice shit, huh? Did you happen to notice what color my skid marks were too?" Happy retorted, slightly annoyed that nothing remained a secret long around the SAMCRO crew. SAMTAC brothers weren't nearly as much into his business as this crew was. "Fuck, I think I need a new cellie."

"Too bad Deon ain't available," Clay said with a smirk as his brothers laughed uproariously. "I'm sure he'd _love_ to get in touch with Juicy Boy's feminine side."

"Okay, just quit it you guys, a'ight?" Juice pleaded, his cheeks blazing crimson.

"Juice can always find somebody to fuck him up the ass. Let's get back to the subject of Hap's visitor," Tig insisted, earning a death glare from the Unholy One himself. "I'm gonna kick your ass if it was one of them fuckin' croweaters and you didn't tell me shit."

"It wasn't, asshole," Happy growled as he wiped his greasy chicken hands on a thin paper napkin. "It was about my Ma."

The table suddenly quieted as all eyes fell on Happy. "Everything a'ight, bro?" Jax asked with concern.

If there was only one thing every brother around the table knew about Happy Lowman it was how much he cared for and worried about his mother. After putting in a significant amount of time with the Tacoma charter, Happy had willingly relinquished the responsibilities and privileges he had earned in order to go Nomad. All so that he could be that much closer to Bakersfield as his mother dealt with a serious illness.

"It was good news," Happy nodded at Jax. "Her cancer's in remission," he continued and although it was said noncommittally, it was evident by the light in his brown eyes just how pleased he was.

As his brothers congratulated him and slapped him on the back, Happy realized just how much he loved the brotherhood. Even though he rarely ever shared the burden of the shit he was dealing with, his brothers could sense when something was amiss. Although they never pressured him to talk, they always made it known that he wasn't dealing with shit alone. Through his mother's illness and anything else he had endured in his nearly 20 years as a Son, his brothers always had his back.

"That's cool that she was able to come tell you in person," Juice replied. "I would have liked to have met her."

"She didn't come herself, idiot. My sis—" Happy paused, rethought his answer and played off misspeaking by coughing. "Her caregiver drove up to let me know."

"Really? All the way from Bakersfield?" Clay took another painful stab at his rubber chicken. "You must be paying this broad big bucks for her to make time to come and tell you in person."

"Nah, not really. She and Ma go way back. No big shit," Happy said, the thought that he was over sharing making him feel suddenly uneasy. As much as he loved both the Club and his family, he pretty much did his best to keep them far apart. It was just the way he liked it. No one really knew anything about his mother, not even her name and they certainly didn't know about the crazy little sister he had adopted without quite knowing how so many years ago. "Anyway, shit's all good. Even though Ma did pull my ear by proxy for not calling and shit."

"I feel ya, bro," Jax started as he thought about his mother. "Gemma gave me all kinds of shit for the same reason. I know she worries, but I just wish I had taken your advice and left the outside where it belongs a lot sooner."

"You learned your lesson the hard way, brother. I don't think it's one you'll be needing to learn again," Happy focused his gaze on Jax knowingly. "And we'll be handling that shit soon enough too."

"Damn straight," Clay said as he pointed a fork at Jax. "Now that the deal has passed, we just need to sit tight and work out our strategy. Soon enough we'll be back in Charming and our state-sponsored vacation will be nothing but a bad fuckin' memory."

As Happy continued to half-heartedly eat his food, his mind wandered as he thought about Clay's words. Now that he knew that his mother and Marlowe were doing okay, he could more fully focus on getting out alive.

He was already looking forward to the day when he could go home again.

* * *

_**Charming, CA – Friday, January 8, 2010** _

Standing in the corridor outside Margaret Murphy's office door, Tara vacillated between paying heed to her head or her heart.

After nearly eleven months of simply living in the moment from day to day, it was the last visit that she had made with Abel to see Jax that was suddenly spurring her to take action. Sitting in the Visitor's Center and watching the two Teller men bond, Tara had felt her heart stir with emotion. It had taken quite some time, but a healthy color had returned to her old man's skin, as had the shape and definition of the muscle tone he had lost while recuperating from the devastating attack that had nearly killed him.

Tara was glad that the SAMCRO VP was regaining his strength and vigor. As a doctor, learning of the extent of his injuries and the several setbacks he had suffered during recovery, Tara had been unsure whether or not he would actually pull through. She was grateful he had and had prayed that he would many nights as she lay all alone in their bed. Now that he had, however, the realization that he would be home in three short months hit her like a blow to the gut.

_Jax is coming home!_

What should have felt like jubilation coursing through her body, making the butterflies in her belly take flight, felt more like a cold dread seeping in through her skin and turning her blood to ice. The initial fluttering in the pit of her stomach had hardened into a ball of fear and loathing. Tara feared what living an outlaw life with Jax would entail and loathed what doing so could potentially turn her into.

_Gemma!_

The thought of ending up like Jax's manipulative, control freak of a mother scared the shit out of Tara. She had come close to morphing into a "fierce" old lady once before, racking up one arrest after another for everything from drunk and disorderly conduct to catfighting in the parking lot of Murphy's Supermarket.

At sixteen, Tara had foolishly thought she had all the answers and didn't care where or how she ended up as long as she ended up with Jax. At nineteen, however, after Jax had patched into SAMCRO, Tara got a real taste of what that really meant and she didn't like it at all. She still loved Jax, but knew that she needed more than just the Club to make her happy. It had broken her heart when Jax had refused to leave Charming and the Club when she decided to go to college in San Diego, but in the long run, leaving had been the best decision Tara could have made for herself.

 _Coming back, not leaving, was the greatest mistake of my life_ , Tara thought bitterly.

If Jax could not bring himself to leave the Club he had only just patched into when they were nineteen, what chance did he have of doing just that after twelve years of living the Life while separated from Tara? He swore that he loved her. That he loved her since they were sixteen and had never stopped loving her. But just because two people loved each other passionately didn't mean that they were meant to be together, especially not when it caused detriment to one or both.

Moonlighting as the Club's doctor had nearly caused her to lose her job in St. Thomas more than once. As much as Tara loved Jax, she loved being a surgeon as well. It gave her life meaning to be capable of saving a baby's life with her hands and her mind working together. It certainly gave her greater satisfaction than having to stitch up dog bites and bullet wounds on ass cheeks!

Maybe it was already too late for Tara to come to this realization. _Maybe I should just let it all be_ , but on a darker, deeper level, Tara knew that she wouldn't be able to.

If reading the letters John Teller had written to Maureen Ashby nearly 16 years ago had been a mistake, then looking into the circumstances surrounding his death had been an abomination, a curse she was now burdened with. Knowing what she knew now—about Gemma, Clay, JT and Unser—made staying with Jax in Charming a tragedy just waiting to happen. There was no telling what Gemma and Clay were capable of doing to keep their dirty little secret from Jax. And any hope Tara might harbor of getting Jax to leave if she gave him the letters was foolish at best because if the truth concerning JT's death was anything as she suspected, having Jax read those letters would doom them both to a very unhappy future.

 _It's time for me to take control of my own destiny, and this is the only way I can see it happening_.

And with that thought at the forefront of her mind, Tara knocked on the door.

"Come in," Margaret called out as she flipped through several reports on her desk. With her reading glasses perched on the tip of her nose, she looked up to see Tara standing in her doorway, and smiled. "Tara, what can I do for you?"

Margaret's eyes widened in surprise as without a word, Tara walked into her office and closed the door silently behind her before marching across the room to sit in the chair in front of her desk. It took Tara a moment to gather her thoughts as she moistened her lips and prepared to speak. But before she could open her mouth, Tara's shoulders started shaking violently in distress and to her own complete and utter shock, she burst into tears.

Quickly rising from her desk, Margaret walked around it to sit in the chair opposite Tara and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Tara, what in the world is the matter?" she asked urgently.

"I—I'm sorry," Tara blubbered as she grasped the wad of tissues that Margaret thrust into her hands. "It's just that I think I made a really big mistake," she sniffled and lifted her red-rimmed eyes to her co-worker's face.

Sighing, Margaret ran a hand through her short dark red hair and struggled to find some words of comfort. "Tara, I know that there are times when we do things that we may later regret," she started quietly. "But if regret is what you're feeling, you shouldn't. In light of everything that has happened—Abel's kidnapping, _our_ kidnapping, Jax's incarceration—and everything that will most likely happen, deciding not to bring another child into this life was the best you could have done, for yourself and that child. If you ever decide to get away, having a child with Jax would have made that impossible. He would _always_ be a part of your life as the father of that child. Instead, you have put a stop to the damaging cycle of violence you have fallen into," Margaret explained vehemently, only to watch Tara shake her head adamantly.

"You don't understand," Tara cried as she mopped away her tears. "I don't regret having the abortion. I _regret_ staying in this fuckin' town after Jax went inside!"

As Margaret heaved a sigh of relief, Tara got up from her chair and grabbed a fresh wad of Kleenex, blowing her nose furiously before dumping the used tissues into the wastebasket by the desk.

Leaning against the desk with her arms crossed over her chest, Tara shook her head. "I should have just left. The moment Jax got hauled away to Stockton, I should have returned to Chicago. After fourteen months, Jax would not have come after me and I could have put this whole nightmare life I've created for myself behind me."

"Why didn't you?" Margaret asked earnestly.

"Because I loved him," Tara replied sadly. Pausing, she tucked several loose strands of hair behind her ear. "My greatest fault has always been loving Jax more than I loved myself and I HATE myself in Charming!" Taking a deep breath to keep the tears from flowing again, Tara let it out as a shudder. "I wanted so badly to believe him every time he said that things were going to change for the better, but it finally started to dawn on me that the past eleven months have been the most peaceful I've enjoyed since returning to Charming. I may have to accept that we're not meant to be happy together and that if I try to stick it out, Jax and the MC will only bring me down to the point where I won't be able to recover from it."

As Margaret nodded her head sympathetically, Tara thought about Gemma. As a teenager, Tara had hated Gemma and she knew all too well that the feeling had been mutual. This time around, however, after a bumpy start and after Gemma's brutal rape, they had managed to find common ground and had grown closer. As a result, Gemma had taken her under her wing, so to speak, in order to groom her into the perfect old lady for her son. They had grown so close that Gemma was able to detect that something had been off with Tara and had guessed that the young woman had been pregnant. She had foolishly trusted that the SAMCRO matriarch would keep her secret and it was Tara's fault for not realizing sooner that Gemma was loyal to only one person: her son Jax.

After Abel's kidnapping, Tara's relationship with Jax had taken a turn for the worse. She knew deep down that Jax blamed her for the fact that Cameron Hayes had taken off to Ireland with his son, but not before killing the Prospect Half Sack. He had gone out of his way to treat her badly and Tara knew she should have seen Jax fucking Ima as the final nail in their coffin. After Jax had left for Belfast, Tara had made the decision to go through with the abortion before heading back to Chicago.

Hector Salazar had thwarted her getaway plan by kidnapping her and Margaret. And with Jax risking his life to save her, Tara had postponed her exit strategy until Jax was in Stockton. Learning that he knew about the pregnancy had thrown her and after all Jax had been through with Abel, Tara didn't have the heart to tell him she had aborted their baby. She also had no idea that concealing that loss as a miscarriage would have the same devastating effect on him.

Now with the Club inside, Tara had been slowly pulling herself away from Gemma and as a result was finding it increasingly difficult to avoid Gemma's pressing questions about her future with Jax and Abel. As Gemma tried to comfort her about her "losing" the baby, all Tara could think about was how right Jax had been. She should have returned to Chicago after Kohn had been dealt with.

Now, there were only three months left before Jax came home and the urge to run had finally kicked in again.

Focusing her gaze on Margaret, Tara found the confidence she needed to finally give voice to what she wanted. "I need a favor," Tara began without hesitation. "I need you to get me some information on a couple of out-of-state hospitals." Pulling a folded piece of paper out of her lab coat, Tara handed it to the astonished woman. "I've been doing some research. There are two hospitals, one in Oregon and the other in Seattle with openings in the neo-natal department."

"You're thinking of leaving Charming?" Margaret said quietly, the hopeful relief clearly evident in her voice.

 _Finally!_ Margaret rejoiced inwardly. _I was about to give up hope_.

In so many ways, Margaret had seen herself in Tara as she had been so many years ago, living a destructive life with a destructive and selfish man hell bent on destroying them both. She had also believed that this man was the love of her life. It had finally taken her almost dying to realize that there was more to life than what she had been living. For a long while now, Margaret believed that Tara would never get that message, choosing to stay in Charming after they had both suffered horribly at the hands of one of the MC's enemies. Staying while her old man did time and raising his child by another woman—a drug addict—Margaret knew that Tara was losing a bit of herself with every day that passed.

Now it seemed as if the young surgeon was finally waking up to the realities of her life. Now more than ever she knew that Tara needed her help in order to make the final break that would free her from a life she wasn't meant to live. Dr. Tara Knowles—a smart, bright and capable young woman—was destined for greater things and Margaret Murphy was determined to get her there.

Tara shook her head slightly. "I'm not 100% there yet, but I'm working on it," she admitted morosely.

Getting up from her seat, Margaret reassuringly squeezed Tara's shoulder and smiled as their eyes met. "Everything will be just fine, Tara. I'm going to help you."


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sons of Anarchy. I do, however, own Marlowe and any other OCs that appear in the 2 Sons Universe.**

* * *

_**Charming, CA – Sunday, April 11, 2010** _

Jax was livid, his strong jaw clenched and his nostrils flared as he sat seething in the driver's seat of T-M's tow truck.

Freedom was a precious commodity, especially to an outlaw like Jax Teller. Unlike most ordinary citizens, he knew what it was like to live without it and hated it. After fourteen months of imprisonment, Jax had finally walked out of Stockton Prison less than 24 hours ago a free man, a feat he had feared would be impossible after getting shanked a month into his sentence.

Sitting in the shitty junk pile of Aadlen Auto Wrecking in Oakland, watching as Clay climbed into the passenger side holding a large and crumpled brown paper bag, the sense of freedom Jax had enjoyed the moment he had slipped into his kutte was gone. Now, the kutte he had coveted as a young boy but was now forced to hide underneath a zip-up hoodie weighed heavy on his back. Jax was feeling the binding constraints of the Club he loved so much as the truth of just how deep a shit hole the Sons of Anarchy were in was revealed to him. SAMCRO's President had once again made an executive decision without fully informing his brothers. A decision which could have dire consequences for the entire organization.

Feeling his rage build exponentially, all Jax wanted to do was plow his balled up fist repeatedly into his stepfather's face. Instead, he ran a frustrated hand over his closely cropped hair, his blue eyes shooting daggers into the steel blue eyes set in a craggy face looking back at him void of remorse.

"What the fuck were you thinking, Clay, getting us into this shit?!" Jax raged.

"I was thinking about the Club, Jax, about getting us solvent for one," Clay shot back angrily. "This is a deal of a lifetime. What we're gonna earn over the next year is more than what we earned running guns for the last ten and muling the coke for the Galindo Cartel is a necessary part of that. It was all or nothing. More important than the money, son, they promised us the protection we needed so that I could keep us— _you_ —fuckin' breathing. The Cartel—"

"Fuck that, Clay! Go blow that smoke up somebody else's ass," Jax interrupted heatedly, the extraneous sounds of the junkyard not loud enough to mask his fury. "Don't use concern for my welfare to shift the responsibility of this clusterfuck on me. This shit here," he pointed an index finger at Clay, "is all about the fuckin' money!"

Clay's eyes widened wildly. "Don't you fuckin' tell me what my motives are! You _and_ this Club are just as important to me as this Cartel deal. Getting in bed with Galindo protected us in Stockton and we need that protection now more than ever after taking care of the Russians last night."

Shaking his head, Jax slumped against his seat and used his thumb and index finger to massage the bridge of his nose in an attempt to get his anger under control. "You do remember throwing a brother off the roof of a building in Belfast because he got in bed with Jimmy O, right? He sidestepped the Club in order to pad his retirement plan, and now you're doing the same shit," Jax said in an eerily quiet monotone.

"McGee betrayed the Club for his _own_ gain, which resulted in the death of several of his brothers, including one with ties to this charter. I'm doing what's best for my Club in the hopes that it will benefit _all of us_. That's the difference that you need to recognize," Clay said tersely.

"And it never occurred to you to bring up the fact we'd be trafficking coke for the Galindo Cartel when we voted on the deal?" Jax challenged.

Sighing, Clay ran a hand over his silver hair. "Son, with you out of play, I made a judgment call, but I talked it over with Tig and we felt—"

"What the fuck did you just say?!" Jax exclaimed in exasperation. "What the fuck did you do?!"

Clay winced as he saw the heat in his VP's eyes. In his haste to make Jax see reason, his tongue was quick to drop some knowledge he had meant to keep to himself. Considering the bad blood stirred up by the Donna Winston situation, Clay knew that having Jax find out he had gone to Tig with the truth about the Cartel deal would just stir shit up further. His VP and SAA were constantly at odds, one not trusting the other. Tig questioned Jax's commitment to the Club while Jax felt Tig was too loyal to their President.

Sighing deeply, Clay tried to make his stepson understand his reasons for going behind his back. "Son, maybe you forgot this already, but you almost _died_ in Stockton. The last thing I wanted was to pile any more stress on you. Besides, you were in the infirmary for months. I needed to give Galindo an answer and reaching out to you for your input was impossible. I needed a sounding board, so I took my brother into my confidence."

Jax rolled his eyes as he absorbed Clay's admission. "Yeah, you went to _Tiggy_ , who is all about killing shit and less about figuring out whether killing shit is the right way to go. You went to him because you _knew_ he'd side with you, Clay. If what you wanted was a no-bullshit, honest-to-God opinion, you would've gone to Bobby and we wouldn't be having this conversation right now because we both know that Bobby would have squashed this shit."

Clay ran a weary hand over the stubble on his chin. "Maybe you're right," he admitted.

"There's no 'maybe' about it," Jax smirked distastefully. "Have you even contemplated an endgame? Like how the fuck we get out of bed once we're 'solvent' again? We're just small fish in a big fuckin' pond. The only way we get out of a Cartel _drug_ deal is in a pine box."

"You don't know that, son," Clay waved a beefy hand impatiently. "Besides, that's not something we need to worry about _right now_. We'll have plenty enough time to figure out the endgame later. I've been running this Club for over 15 years. I think I know what the fuck I'm doing."

"Do you really?" Jax asked irritably. "You know, I guess you're right. Why worry about getting SAMCRO out of a deal we never even voted on in the first place."

Clay's gaze snapped up to look at Jax as he shook his head. "Voting against it is _not_ an option, Jax," he warned.

"Then why even pretend like a vote counts, bro? Just walk up to the Club and tell them we're fucked and there's nothing they can do about it except patch out," Jax suggested sarcastically.

"That can't happen either," Clay said soberly. "I need everyone at the table on board with this and I'm counting on your support to make this deal happen, Jax. They'll follow your lead if you can convince them that you're sincerely backing my play and you'll even have a prop for your pitch to use as an incentive," he said, nodding at the innocuous brown paper sack that sat between them holding half a million dollars, the Cartel's down payment on their first order.

 _He's probably right_ , Jax thought bitterly as he ran a hand over his whiskers. _Not many people would turn down a cut of $750,000 every two weeks_.

Jax shook his head. "You're putting way too much faith in my ability to sway the Club, Clay."

"And I say you're not putting enough faith in _yourself_ , son. It was _you_ , not me, that got us out of the shit with the ATF gash. _You_ got us short time in Stockton. _You_ got your mother free from having to serve two consecutive life sentences for murder, and _you_ got your son back. You're a strong leader, Jax," Clay grinned with genuine pride as he slapped a meaty fist on his stepson's shoulder. "I know what _I've_ built."

 _Maybe, but are you willing to pay the price for making me so much like you?_ Jax thought grimly.

After John Teller died, Clarence Morrow had taken up the task of raising Jax, helping him become the man and the Club member he was now. Since patching in, Jax had spent his time at Clay's side, learning as much as he could from his savvy President, mentor and stepfather. From him Jax had learned to think ten, thirty, even fifty steps ahead of their opponents. Clay had been the one to teach him to always have an endgame in mind and then plot the course of action that would see him to that goal. But in spite of being the one who taught him those lessons, it was becoming increasingly clear to Jax that Clay's focus was on the here and now, and not on the future of the Club where it belonged.

 _Shit!_ Jax cursed to himself, knowing that he was between a rock and a hard place.

Jax had spent his time in Stockton carefully plotting out SAMCRO's future in an effort to restore his father's legacy to what JT had originally planned for the Club. If Jax was honest with himself, he was just as much about making money as Clay was. The only difference was that Jax's incentive wasn't personal gain, but saving the MC from dying a slow and bloody death. In order to move the Sons away from gunrunning and into more legitimate businesses, they needed capital and lots of it and selling guns to the Galindo Cartel was the way to make that happen. But that was before Jax knew that muling coke was part of the deal.

Once again, Clay had overstepped his bounds as President. This time around, his desire to do whatever necessary for an easy payday could result in the entire Club having to pay for its way out of the Cartel deal with blood. There was only one way Jax could think of that would give him the power to keep that from happening. All he needed to know now was just how much Clay was willing to sacrifice to get what they _both_ wanted.

Taking the bag that was sitting on the seat next to him, Jax tossed it on the floor underneath his seat before turning slightly to eye his brother. "I'll back you on the coke," he said quietly. Clay nodded his approval, fighting to keep the grin of self-satisfaction as he got his way from widening further. Jax smiled in return as he proceeded to drop the anvil on Clay's head. " _But_ I need something in return," Jax said, his casual but fierce grin never making it to his icy blue eyes. He was going in for the kill. " _And_ it's non-negotiable."

As Jax started to outline his plan in great detail—one he had hatched in the last ninety seconds of their conversation—he watched with a sense of satisfaction as the color drained from the face of the greedy bastard he had always thought of as a father.

* * *

Lying on his back, Jax had his arm tucked under his head as he cradled his old lady against his naked chest with his other arm. In the darkness of their bedroom, Jax was staring up at the ceiling with unseeing eyes as he mulled over the first 24 hours of his life as a free man. It had certainly been anything but uneventful, not that he had expected any different. With so much game-changing shit happening, it felt more like an entire week had passed instead of just one day.

Starting with running into the new sheriff's welcome wagon in the middle of Main Street, Jax's day had segued into a much happier and long-anticipated but brief reunion with his family. With Clay resuming his role as the Club's President, they had quickly moved into their first official Church in 14 months where they discussed their meeting later that afternoon with Viktor Putlova at the Jellybean Lounge. Returning home, Jax was able to enjoy a brief respite before Opie's wedding by losing himself in Tara's arms after a long and frustrating sexual drought. Reconnecting physically and emotionally with his old lady had been good, soul-cleansing even.

Shit had taken a turn into the unexpected, however, when Tara had asked what his plans were for getting out of Charming, her tone suggesting that it was all but a done deal. After all, she had hoped that almost dying in prison had been the wake up call he needed since his son's kidnapping and the Salazar situation had failed in that regard. As much as Jax had hoped to delay having such a heavy discussion on his first night home, it was inevitable that Tara would bring up plans for leaving Charming and he couldn't get mad at her because of it. After all, that had been her plan for them since they were nineteen years old and not much had changed in the ten years they had been separated.

Although Jax would admit to briefly entertaining the thought of leaving SAMCRO as he lay bleeding on the cold concrete in Stockton Prison, reality had soon caught up with him once he was breathing on his own again. Outlaw was what he did best. In the ordinary world, Jax knew he was nothing more than just a so-so mechanic with a GED. Even if the Galindo gun deal enabled him to accumulate significant bank within a year, allowing him to give Tara what she wanted by leaving Charming in the rearview, the question still remained: Who the hell was Jax Teller without the Club?

It was with great regret that Jax soon realized that as much he loved Tara, he loved SAMCRO just as much, if not more. Worse yet, this fact was not lost on his old lady.

Although Jax felt that he had much to make up for after all Tara had been through with him and for all she had lost, the fact remained that if out was what she wanted so desperately, he had given her an out before going inside. As a matter of fact, after Abel's kidnapping, Jax had spent a considerable amount of time trying to push Tara away. He had gone as low as fucking porn star Ima, an absolute deal breaker in Tara's book, in his efforts to get her to leave Charming. By the time he had left for Belfast, Jax was sure that when he returned, he would find her gone. The thought killed him a little inside, but he was prepared to be okay with that. Tara, the savior of sick and dying babies, deserved a life less complicated, and he loved her enough to let her have it.

 _But that had been before I knew she was pregnant_.

Once he had his son back in his arms, Jax realized that he couldn't let Tara and their unborn baby go anymore than he could Abel. But in the end, staying in Charming had put her in Salazar's crosshairs and had resulted in the devastating loss of the baby she had carried. Jax knew that if he lived to be a hundred, he would never forgive himself for the danger being with him had put Tara and his children in. Although she never spoke about what had happened, Jax knew that if given the opportunity, he would do what he could to make it up to her.

Except leave SAMCRO.

Jax had tried explaining his business plans that would enable the Club to shed its outlaw reputation, making life in the Club and in Charming that much safer, but he doubted she had heard any of it through her sobbing. Although in the end Tara had agreed to give him the time he needed to turn the Club around, their discussion had ended with Jax feeling a nagging sense of resistance from his old lady, almost like she was on the verge of saying something, but held herself back. It had been that hesitation on her part that had kept Jax from proposing.

Jax squeezed his eyes shut as he thought about the vintage engagement ring he had asked his mother to secure for him. At the moment, it was nestled in the inner breast pocket of his kutte instead of on his old lady's finger, and it bothered Jax on a deeply emotional level that that was the case. He tried justifying that fact to himself by thinking that maybe he was probably too much like JT, unable to really commit himself to one woman.

_Or maybe, deep down, I know Tara's not ready to commit to me, Abel_ _and_ _the Club._

So until he could find the time to figure shit out, sort through all of the fuckin' noise in his head, Jax decided to table the idea of getting married again. He had already made the mistake of blindly making that commitment once. In order for it to work the second time around, Jax was going to make sure that they both knew what they were signing up for and then sticking to making it happen. So instead of trying to put a ring on it, Jax had spent the rest of the afternoon preparing for the Main Event—finally extracting his pound of flesh from Putlova and the ROC at his best friend's wedding reception.

Jax had watched as Clay had taken the first shot, taking out one of Putlova's guards as Happy dispatched the other from behind, slicing a knife across the man's throat before he could make the move to grab his sidearm. The satisfaction that Jax had felt as he stalked towards Putlova and repeatedly plunged his KA-BAR into the man's gut had been anything but "just business". It was all personal, down to the wad of spit he had tossed on the dying man before he casually strode away, leaving the Prospects behind to bury the bodies.

By washing away old injuries with blood, this one event was the catalyst that set Jax on the course of finally putting his plan to save his father's dying Club into motion. But as was par for the course when one lived the Life, one shit or another was always on the brink of going sideways. The following morning just proved that to Jax at their introductory meeting with Galindo representatives Romero "Romeo" Parada and his associates. He and Clay had gone to Oakland to get the ball rolling on the Club's new venture with the Cartel. Blindsided by an unexpected twist had nearly sent Jax into a tailspin. However, like his President, Jax had taken the new deal and twisted it to give him the advantage over Clay.

Muling drugs for the Galindo Cartel was the absolute last thing that Jax wanted SAMCRO into. After all, his ex-wife's drug addiction had nearly caused the death of his prematurely born son. Despite the fact that gun running was no cleaner a crime than trafficking drugs, preying on people with addictions that could bring otherwise rational human beings down into the gutter was particularly vile to the outlaw.

Looking down at Tara's soft, dark hair, he absently stroked it with his ringed fingers and wondered how he was going to break the news that in addition to gun running with the added risk of dealing high-powered weapons, he was now about to embark on a life as a fuckin' drug runner to boot!

There were no longer any doubts in Jax's mind. The Sons of Anarchy had lost their way. What had seemed like a lost cause after going into Stockton had flipped on him in less than a day back home. For the first time since finding his father's manuscript, Jax felt like he was making some steps in the right direction. He grinned mirthlessly as he recalled the look of shock on Clay's face as he laid out his demands. The older outlaw had not seen it coming, which was why the impact had hit him particularly hard. Clay minced no words in making it clear to Jax that he felt betrayed. Jax himself was amazed that he had managed to walk away from the exchange intact after dropping his demands on Clay.

Jax finally decided to keep the fact that SAMCRO was now muling coke from his old lady, at least for the time being. If the first twenty-four hours of freedom had been a rough ride, the next twenty-four were going to test Tara in ways he wasn't sure she was prepared to handle. Jax knew what her reaction to the drugs would be, but he also knew that Tara was going to have to suck it up and get in line with everyone else who would give him and Clay shit about this new move. After all, Tara knew where the endgame would take them. Even though they wouldn't be leaving Charming, Jax's goal was to provide his family with a stable and financially secure future.

Having made the decision to not run away from his responsibilities, to stay and save his Club, Jax knew that he would not be able to pull it off alone. Jax winced in the darkness as he thought about his brother from another mother. Opie Winston had been his best friend since birth and Jax knew he was doomed to failure without him by his side. But SAMCRO's gentle giant had already been asked to sacrifice too much for his brothers. The nickel Ope had served in Chino thanks to Kyle Hobart had almost killed his marriage. Clay's paranoid distrust of Opie, thanks to the treacherous ATF bitch June Stahl, had cost Donna Winston her life.

Although Jax had promised his brother that one day they would eventually run the Club, bringing it back to what had been JT's and Piney's original vision, Jax knew the journey to that point wasn't going to be an easy one. Aside from Opie, Jax needed to call upon another brother who could help him make the hard choices and whose only loyalty was to the Club.

Realizing that it was almost four o'clock in the morning, Jax closed his eyes. Falling asleep would never happen if he didn't at least try to still his thoughts. He was going to need as much rest as he could get. In a few short hours, Clay was going to drop the bomb of the Son's obligation to run drugs for the Galindo Cartel. If Jax was successful in swaying the majority to back the deal, an old era would be coming to an end as a new one would begin.

For the sake of everything Jax loved—his son, his old lady, his family, and his Club—he could only hope that he and his brothers made it through the next twenty-four hours in one piece.

* * *

_**Monday, April 12, 2010** _

Sitting at the far end of the Redwood table, Happy sat back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest as he eyed his brothers. The atmosphere in the Chapel was grim at best and considering the level of craziness they were operating at, the outlaw biker was hard-pressed not to wonder if SAMCRO had set itself on a course of self-destruction. Or maybe, the Club was just in the process of collectively losing its fuckin' mind.

Happy never thought he'd long for the simplicity of his days in Stockton as, home for only a couple of days, it seemed like he and his brothers had fallen right back into a big pile of bad shit. Or maybe, it was just business as usual for the MC.

 _Who the fuck knows anymore?_ Happythought sourly.

Just the day before, Clay had delivered the stunning news that, without the Club's knowledge or consent, the gun deal he had brokered with the Galindo Cartel came with some seriously twisted strings attached.

The mother charter was about to branch out into drug running for the Cartel.

Even now, after having born witness to the troubles the Club has had to deal with the last couple of years first-hand, Happy was still having trouble wrapping his head around just how they had ended up in such predicament. In the over forty years of its existence, the Sons of Anarchy had made it a point of steering clear of drugs. Some of their greatest beefs with other crews like the Mayans and the Nords had festered over SAMCRO's resistance against allowing the drug trade through or within the borders of Charming.

Needless to say, the revelation that the Club would now dabble in the drug business had not gone over well with some sitting at the table. It didn't matter that the Cartel was dangling a big fat carrot in the form of an additional $100K every two weeks as payment for trafficking thirty kilos of cocaine. And it certainly hadn't come as a surprise to Happy that one of the Club's founding members, Piney Winston, had been the most vocal opponent to the newly proposed business venture.

"If I remember right, and I know I do," Piney directed at Clay, his voice a deep growl. "You resisted SAMCRO venturing into porn. You called it a dirty business."

"That was different—" Clay started in his own defense, but was interrupted by Piney's meaty fist slamming onto the Reaper table.

"The hell it is! Drugs are way goddamn dirtier!" Piney bellowed down the table. "You're stupid and delusional if you think we'd be working _with_ the Cartel. We'd be working _for_ them and when that relationship stops producing results, all we'll get out of it is quick passage to an unmarked grave."

The old and ornery biker wasn't the only one at the table opposed to the idea of muling drugs for Galindo. What surprised Happy, however, was just who turned out to be Clay's most ardent supporter: Jax Teller. Considering the hell the young VP had endured since the birth of his son, Happy would have bet his Harley that Jax would have been quite vocal in his opposition. Instead, Jax surprised everyone at the table by voicing his support. Listening to Jax's level-headed and impassioned plea for his brother's to do the same had made an impression on most who had initially opposed the idea, including Happy.

After being given only less than half a day to consider the deal, Church had been called to order as the sun had started to set that evening. Clay had called for the vote and the agreement to mule coke had been voted in by a very narrow margin. Now that the die had been cast, all Happy could think about was whether or not a divided Club would be able to survive this hurdle intact.

Happy refocused his gaze on Clay as he cleared his throat. With the most crucial vote in the Club's recent history finally over, Happy was anticipating that his President would slam the gavel down, calling an end to Church. He sure as fuck was looking forward to being the first out of the door as he made a beeline straight to the bar as he had a sudden urge for a really stiff drink.

Reading Clay's tense body language, Happy's brow furrowed as he got the feeling that there was some more shit about to drop, and for some reason, he suspected that muling for a drug cartel wasn't the worst of it. It would soon become clear just how much Clay's decision to commit the Club to a venture out of their wheelhouse would impact Happy personally.

Clay held the gavel in his right hand as he twirled it around slowly in his fingers before speaking. "There's one more piece of business that needs tending to tonight," Clay said quietly, his voice hovering over the group of outlaws, his next words sending palpable shockwaves around the room. "We need to vote in a new President."


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sons of Anarchy. I do, however, own Marlowe and any other OCs that appear in the 2 Sons Universe.**

* * *

_**Charming, CA – Monday, April 12, 2010** _

"What the fuck, Clay?" Juice's normally modulated tenor voice literally squeaked with shock as Clay's announcement reverberated throughout the Chapel. The young intelligence officer wasn't the only one taken by surprise by the stunning declaration.

Sitting at the far end of the table next to Piney, Happy looked around the room, taking in the expressions of amazement on the rugged faces of his brothers as they muttered epithets and eyed one another in confusion. Happy's face was impassive, however, and betrayed nothing as he rubbed the light stubble on his chin.

 _The only brother not surprised seems to be our VP_ , Happy contemplated as he noted the straight and purposeful set of Jax's shoulders.

An air of confidence and authority literally radiated off of him as Jax casually reached out to pluck his lit cigarette from the ashtray in front of him. Not only was Clay's proclamation no surprise to him, but it seemed to be an eagerly anticipated development for the young man. With Jax wielding the gavel—as there was no doubt in Happy's mind who was next in line—a new era was about to begin for SAMCRO.

However, there was one brother in particular who seemed unable to process what he had just heard. Looking like a deer caught in the headlights, Tig Trager—who had been cutting his fingernails with a small knife—had been caught so off guard that the knife had slipped from his grasp and clattered onto the Redwood table.

Finally capable of speech once again, Tig opened his mouth and asked with wonder, "Brother, what the fuck are you talking about?"

"I'm saying that it's time for me to step down," Clay said evenly, his steely blue eyes meeting Tig's. Although he said the words with much feeling and conviction, it was probably the hardest admission Clay had ever had to make in his life.

Clarence Morrow had been President of the mother charter as well as National President of the Sons of Anarchy since the death of John Teller in 1993. At the time he had assumed the presidency, the Sons had been in the middle of a brutal two-year war with the Mayans, not the most perfect of conditions under which to implement a regime change. But Clay had not only taken the helm, he had expertly navigated the Club successfully, bringing an end to the war and getting their gun running business back on schedule. Less than a year later, as SAMCRO started to prosper once more, Clay found himself the happiest he had ever been, married to his best friend's widow as together they finished raising JT's son.

Of course, in the years that followed, there had been other beefs with other crews, arrests and time to be served, and brothers and old ladies to bury. By getting the mother charter through the good times as well as bad intact, Clay had become an indomitable force in his own right. With his success as President, Clay continued to build the Sons of Anarchy into a legacy that would one day be passed over to Jax.

That day had come sooner than expected because that time was _now_.

Relinquishing his right to lead the MC was a bitter pill to swallow for Clay, but a combination of circumstances—some of his own making—was forcing his hand. While part of him was willing to step aside, mainly the pain in his hands, there was his more aggressive nature that fiercely fought against it. Unfortunately, Clay wasn't in a position to fight for his seat. God only knew the thumping he'd have to take from Jax if he reneged on their agreement.

 _A deal is a deal_ , Clay thought cynically. Not at all happy with how it all went down between the two of them the day before, Clay couldn't help but be proud of his son for turning the tables on him. _After all, he did learn from the master_.

And so Clay addressed his Club with a modified version of the truth as to why now was the time for the new change in leadership.

"The simple fact, boys, is that this last trip inside took a bigger toll on me than even I expected," Clay raised his huge hands for emphasis. "These arthritic pieces of shit I call hands have been steadily deteriorating on me for years. Fourteen months without the cortisone I needed didn't help much either. Luckily for me, my old lady is always on the ball and had Tara track down some surgeon who might be able to help with some bullshit experimental surgery. We all know I would have to step down anyway while I recovered. This transition could have been temporary under ordinary circumstances, but with this Cartel deal, temporary is not an option. The Club needs someone who can handle the hard shit, and right now, I have no doubt that it should be Jax who sits in this chair," Clay grinned. "But just because I'm stepping aside, doesn't mean I'm down and out, shitheads. These old hands still have plenty of life in 'em. As long as I can ride as required by the by-laws, I can vote and I have every intention of continuing to be a major fuckin' pain in the ass around here."

Clay settled back in his chair as his brothers laughed, watching them carefully for their true reactions. From what he could see, while there was much sympathy on their faces for his current predicament, there was also an unexpected air of anticipation and hope. With new blood running an organization as old as the Sons, only time would tell if Clay had made the right decision in an effort to save the Cartel deal.

"Now, Jax and I had a long talk about him taking up the gavel. I know he's ready and eager to lead his brothers into a new era of prosperity. Considering how he handled the Jimmy O situation for the Irish and our own shit with the ATF, I know he can handle whatever shit comes his way, as long as he gets the support he needs from us. Unlike the vote on the Galindo deal, I see no need to sit on this, so if someone is willing to second my nomination, I propose we do this shit right here and now," Clay finished.

From the far end of the table, Clay saw the huge hand of his sponsor fly high into the air. "I second that fuckin' motion," Piney Winston said with emotion as he looked directly at Jax.

Clay nodded, not at all surprised that Piney was so quick to raise his hand. "All those in favor, say aye," Clay said as he watched stoically. As an immediate chorus of 'ayes' came from all around the table, Clay noted that the last brother to add his voice was his SAA.

Looking at his son, Clay managed a wide shit-eating grin. "Then let's give a proper welcome to our new President." Both he and Jax stood up and with much joy, Clay embraced the young man he had brought up as his own. As the room erupted in hoots, applause and stamping feet, Clay rested his hand on Jax's broad shoulders. "I love you, son. _Always_ remember that."

* * *

Watching his brothers celebrate around the table as he loudly clapped his hands and whistled, Happy knew that had JT been alive he would have been really proud of his boy. He also knew Clay long enough to know that giving up his seat could not have been an easy move for him, but change had been a long time coming and Happy couldn't think of a better time for it to take place.

Although the former Tacoma Killer had only been patched back into the mother charter a few weeks before going into Stockton, he had heard through the MC grapevine that Clay and his VP had repeatedly butted heads over a number of Club-related issues. Even though Happy admired Jax Teller for his brains as well as his brawn, he wasn't blind to Jax's own set of shortcomings. The young patch could be arrogant, headstrong and, on occasion, reckless, but no one could say that Jax didn't eat, drink and sleep SAMCRO. Born into the MC world, outlaw was all Jax knew and he wasn't just good. He excelled at it.

Book smart like JT, Jax had the innate ability to see shit outside the box and was a master planner when it came to putting together schemes and scenarios. For that, Jax had his stepfather to thank, whether or not they ever saw eye to eye anymore. Now, watching as Jax took the gavel from his stepfather before Clay headed to the far end of the table to his new seat between him and Piney, Happy wondered what other changes were in store for the Club.

Lucky for some—and unlucky for others—he and his brothers were soon to find out.

* * *

As Jax slowly lowered himself into his stepfather's vacated seat and shifted to make himself comfortable, he looked at the satisfied smiles and nods of approval aimed in his direction and he suddenly felt a measure of relief.

The former VP had spent a sleepless night wondering just how this new turn of events would be received. It was more than very likely that he would not be sitting at the head of the table had the vote to mule the drugs for the Cartel had not passed. That had been the deal he had made with Clay the day before after their meeting with Romeo Parada. If Clay wanted the cushy nest egg that trafficking drugs would all but guarantee him, then he had to agree to step down as the MC's President. Only then would Jax agree to capitalize on his influence with his brothers to make sure that the vote swung in favor of the Cartel deal.

Jax recalled the look of shock on Clay's face when he had presented him with the proposition. In spite of the fact that Jax had said that his terms were non-negotiable, Clay had resisted, looking for a compromise he hoped that they could both live with. Jax, however, refused to back down. Like the Galindo deal itself, it was all or nothing.

Jax knew that in order to affect any real change in the Club, he was going to need the power of the gavel backing him up. Once he got SAMCRO out of the Cartel deal, the plan was to get them out of gun running as well and into a more legitimate way to earn once and for all. Just like JT had planned before he lost himself in Irish pussy.

Like any leader worth his salt, however, Jax knew his limitations. He wasn't so arrogant as to believe that he could implement such a radical change all by himself. He needed back up.

Putting the gavel down on the Redwood table, Jax eyed each of his brothers with purpose before he started to speak. "I know this shit probably came out of the fuckin' blue for everyone. All my thoughts over the last fourteen months were solely focused on one purpose: getting the fuck out of Stockton alive—"

"I heard that shit!" Bobby exclaimed, grinning.

"—and we did, but we have the Cartel deal to thank for that. Believe me, I know that working with Galindo is not gonna be an easy ride, but we're more than capable and certainly smart enough to run this shit under the radar and earn big for the Club," he paused, taking a moment to light a cigarette before continuing. "I also know what can happen if shit goes sideways. You cross a Mexican drug cartel and they won't be picky about who they go after—you, your old ladies, children, parents—but being as we're already in this shit, we have to see it through. While we do that, I'm gonna work on coming up with an endgame that will steer us clear of the Cartel, but it's going to take some time."

For Herman Kozik, his past history with drug addiction made the decision to support Clay and Jax a difficult one. He had conceded and voted for the deal only because, as Jax had stated, they were already in neck deep with the Cartel. Now his new President was making promises about getting them out of the drug trade and he wanted to believe with all his heart that he would. "How long we talking, Pres?" Kozik asked, his deep interest evident to all at the table.

"I can't give you an honest answer, bro, not until we actually start running the guns and coke," Jax replied, looking Kozik in the eye. "Our first order for hardware will be delivered to the Cartel in four weeks. We need to bring that shipment down from Canada and keep it stashed in a safe place before transport to its final destination in Tucson. Evaluating how that first transfer goes is a good place to start," he explained. "In a couple of months, I think we'll be in a better position to see shit from all angles. Brothers, we may have rushed into this deal blind, but if we want to get out of this whole, we need to follow the Club motto on this— _brains before bullets_."

Watching his brothers' reaction as he outlined his strategy, Jax felt a minor sense of accomplishment. Barring any serious shit storms, it seemed as if his brothers were receptive, including Piney. _That all may change in the next few minutes_ , Jax thought as he steeled himself to drop a couple of serious organizational bombs that would greatly impact the Club going forward.

"In order to get shit done, I need back up," Jax said, and turning to his right, addressed his best friend. "Ope, as kids we dreamt of running the Club one day and we swore we would work hard to strengthen the brotherhood, making it as strong, if not stronger, than our fathers before us. It's no secret, bro, that I need you by my side to keep my reactive and explosive tendencies at bay and keep me focused on the tasks at hand. Basically, I need you to keep me from losing my shit. This chair to my left is yours, if you want it."

Opie nodded slowly. "Hell's yeah, I want it, brother," he said, beaming from ear to ear. "You know I'm here for you."

As Jax nominated his son as his new VP, with Bobby quickly seconding the motion, Piney sat back in his chair proudly as his brothers voted Opie in unanimously. He couldn't help but smile widely as his son rose from his chair to meet his best friend at the head of the table in a back-slapping bro-hug.

 _Fuck, tell me I'm about to weep like a fuckin' little bitch_ , Piney coughed to disguise the furtive dashing of a couple of fugitive tears.

As the co-founder of the Club, Piney had been the most vocal opponent of the deal with the Cartel. He didn't buy Clay's bullshit reason for agreeing to the muling. Just like with the gun running, trafficking coke for a band of dirty wetbacks had been all about the money for Clay. Piney's gut had twisted into angry knots as his brothers fell one by one, succumbing to the cunning manipulation of the then-president. Piney had sure as shit been hard-pressed not barf the contents of his stomach, but that would have been a sinful waste of premium tequila.

Now that the Club would be run by his best friend's son as well as his own, it remained to be seen whether under the new management the Club would be able to pull itself out of this dirty deal without suffering further internal damage. Piney, however, had no problem using his close relationship with Jax and Opie to get them moving on getting the Club out of this shitty situation sooner rather than later.

* * *

Happy's smile—a rather large grimace to most people who didn't know him—was wide as he watched the two younger men embrace. Although not surprising, having Opie back him up was a smart move on Jax's part. In spite of the shit Opie had endured in recent years, he remained the ying to Jax's yang. Level-headed, loyal and smart, Opie also had the capability of being a strong Man of Mayhem when the situation called for it.

Thinking that with all the new changes the Club had just undergone, Happy was hoping that Church was about to wrap for the night. He was looking forward to downing more than just a couple of drinks as it was inevitable that a party would break out. They certainly deserved one and finishing out the evening with a couple of croweaters sounded pretty fuckin' good to him right about now.

But partying would have to wait a bit longer as there was one more change coming that would literally shock the hardened one-percenter to his very core.

After motioning for Opie to take his seat, Jax remained standing. _Time to drop the final bomb_ , he thought grimly.

"I know that today has been pretty fuckin' intense. A lot of shit has been dropped on all of you tonight and these changes will affect the Club significantly going forward, but there's one more change I've decided to make. It's not an easy one, but I think it's absolutely necessary."

Turning to his right, Jax looked down into the cool blue eyes of the man that had served the Club as its Sergeant-at-Arms for 16 years. "Tig, you've served as SAA ever since Clay took over after my father died. You were always at his side, protecting him and the Club. I have no doubt that you will continue to do so, brother, in spite of the fact that things have changed radically. These are different times we're living in and, in restructuring the Club, I've decided that I need for you to step down."

Tig's eyes widened in a combination of rage and disbelief as he ran heavily-ringed fingers across his goatee. "What the fuck, Jax? You can't be serious, bro."

"But I am," Jax said soberly. Everyone started murmuring quietly to each other as they watched the suddenly bristly exchange unfold. "Look, Tig, this is in no way a reflection on you or what you've done for the Club. It's nothing personal—"

"The fuck it ain't!" Tig blurted as waves of anger washed over him. "One fuckin' minute at the head of the goddamn table—" About to jump out of his chair to vigorously protest what he perceived as Jax's sorely lacking judgment, Tig caught the look of his now-former president was angrily flashing at him. After being close friends for many years, Tig could clearly read Clay's intent in his steely blue eyes.

_Sit the fuck down and shut up before I kick your ass!_

So out of respect for their longtime friendship, Tig Trager collected himself before nodding his head. "It's your call, brother," he conceded.

"Yeah, it is," Jax replied curtly. Turning away from Tig, his blue eyes fell on his next target. "Hap, can you come here, please?" he asked quietly.

Happy couldn't have been more surprised had Jax asked him to suck him off. Hiding his astonishment behind his usual scowl, he eyed Tig before he stood and walked around the table to his new President.

Reaching into the breast pocket of his kutte, Jax pulled out a small black and white patch that read Sergeant-at-Arms. Holding it out to him, Jax looked his brother straight in his nearly black eyes. "Will you serve _the Club_ , brother?"

Nodding slowly at first, the bald-headed patch allowed a fierce smile to slowly creep over his features. Taking the patch from Jax's palm, Happy said proudly, "I live, I love, I kill for my family." As the two men hugged one another, Opie watched from his new position and approved.

After learning of the part that Clay and Tig had played in Donna's death, Opie had found it difficult to sit at the table. With both men now relinquished of their positions of power, for the first time in a very long time Opie felt like he could revive his dormant love for the brotherhood. Knowing Jax, he realized that his brother had known that it would be far too difficult for him to work with Tig as his SAA. With Happy on board, Opie knew that there would be a period of adjustment to be made, but he also knew that the older man's deep love for the Club would keep both him and Jax well-grounded.

When the two brothers broke apart amidst the clapping and wolf whistles, Opie interjected with a huge grin, "Seems like a vote on that shit is totally un-fuckin'-necessary so, as my first duty as VP, I am advising my President to slam that gavel down so we can get the party started!"

Jax picked up the gavel and smiled almost wickedly at his brother. "Sounds like you're already thinking like an officer," he said before slamming the gavel down forcefully.

* * *

As classic rock played on the jukebox, scantily-clad croweaters made the rounds handing out beers, shots and blow jobs to patches and hang-arounds alike. Everyone was in a good mood as the impromptu party broke out to celebrate the installation of the new officers of the Sons of Anarchy.

 _Almost everyone_ , Bobby mused as he watched Tig sulkily sitting at one of the tables with a croweater on his lap.

Tig, he noticed, wasn't paying all that much attention to the buxom brunette even though she was one of his absolute favorites. Instead, he was gazing at the amber liquid as he ran a ringed middle finger around the rim, lost in deep thought. Finally picking up the glass, Tig downed the four fingers of his favorite whiskey before getting up from his seat and hoisting the now-squealing croweater over his shoulder. Making a beeline for his dorm, Tig didn't hesitate in snatching away from Miles the blonde porn star he had spent most of the night talking up.

Bobby chuckled, sipping his drink as the new patch nearly pouted at being relieved of the honey with the tight body and big juicy lips. _Shit, those two pussies are in for a hell of a trip with a pissed off Tigger._

Although he felt a measure of sympathy for the way things had worked out for his brother, Bobby had not been at all surprised. Still, Bobby couldn't help but wonder if Jax had made the right call in making the change so soon after being appointed. It was no secret that there had been some animosity between the now-former VP and the now-former SAA in the past, but Bobby was sure that rift had been healed while in lock up.

As one of the few that had opposed the drug aspect of the Cartel deal and despite how the vote had gone through, Bobby couldn't have been happier when Jax assumed the presidency. It was the boy's destiny to be the Club's next leader and Bobby was putting his faith that, in spite of the Club's current situation, Jax would rise to the challenge and lead in the same manner as his old man.

Finally seeing an opportunity as several of the hang-arounds cleared away from the new president sitting at the bar, Bobby grabbed two shots of whiskey before joining his young brother. Handing him a glass, Bobby slapped a meaty hand on Jax's back. "It's a good thing, brother, and I'm so fuckin' glad I got to live to see it, too."

Jax grinned as he looked at the pot-bellied, shaggy-haired man. "You sure about that? Even after how the Cartel vote went down?"

" _Especially_ after how that vote went down, brother," Bobby replied before throwing back his drink and slamming the shot glass on the bar. Noting the reflective gaze on Jax's face, he caught his eye and nodded at one of the empty tables. Grabbing a bottle of Jack and their glasses, the two men headed over to sit down. "Don't you feel like it's a good thing?" Bobby continued their conversation.

"I do," Jax allowed with a nod. "But it's already obvious that this shit ain't gonna be easy."

"Nothing worth doing ever is, son," Bobby replied as he refilled their glasses. "Especially after the move you made with Tig."

"It had to happen," Jax said, his tone adamant. "I'm not making this shit personal, Bobby. I have to be objective and do what's right for the Club, and right now, Tig watching my back ain't it." As Bobby opened his mouth to interrupt, Jax continued. "I love Tig. He's a good patch who loves the Club," he paused. "He just loves Clay _more._ "

Bobby nodded soberly. "There may be some truth in that."

"Let's not fool ourselves here, bro. There's _a lot_ of truth in that. Tig has been Clay's right hand man, with you being on his left, a hell of a lot longer than me. I don't blame you for that. I know you have a long history with Clay, but you don't let that get in the way of doing what's right for the Club. Clay knows that when he needs to hear the truth, he comes to you. When he wants someone to be a good little soldier and back his every play without question, he goes to Tig. I can't afford to have someone like that watching my back. It's dangerous—for me and for the Club."

"I can see that, but—"

"No 'buts', bro. The bottom line is, after all the shit that's gone down, I can't trust Tig to be loyal to just the Club. He's backed too many of Clay's bad plays without the knowledge of those sitting at the table and shit went deep south. Did you even know that Tig was aware that muling drugs was a big part of the deal with Galindo before anyone else was, including myself?"

"Shit, no!" Bobby breathed. "When?"

"Clay downloaded on him while we were in Stockton. With Tig's full support, it gave him the confidence he needed to agree to the muling even before the Club voted on it. Trust me, had I known about this shit while in Stockton, there's no way it would have gone through without a vote first," Jax insisted.

Bobby ran his hand over his bushy chin hair in contemplation. "So handing over the Pres patch was the price Clay had to pay for getting you on board with the Cartel deal?" he inquired.

Jax shook his head. "It wasn't like that, Bobby. Clay had no endgame in sight. With his bad hands, this shit would have fallen on my shoulders at some point anyway and I figured there was no time like the present. With the best of intentions, Clay made a bad call and with the money we'll be raking in, I just didn't see Galindo going away anytime soon with him at the head of the table. I can't trust that Clay had any intention of getting us out of muling and Tig was just a casualty of that. The last thing we need is to have an SAA go rouge, his loyalties split between two presidents. You know I'm right."

Looking at the serious expression on his President's face, Bobby had to agree. _The boy is really trying to get on top of this shit_ , he thought with admiration.

"Yeah, I do, brother. I've known both Tig and Hap a long time, and let's face it, there ain't another patch more capable than Happy of watching that broad fuckin' back of yours," he conceded.

"Best part is that I _know_ Hap's first priority is protecting the Club. With that kind of loyalty watching my back, I can trust that he will keep me from overstepping boundaries when it comes to the laws that govern this Club," Jax explained. "SAMCRO's not a kingdom, Bobby. We're a democratic organization. Clay forgot that for a minute."

"I get it," Bobby Elvis replied, his head bobbing up and down. "Tigger, on the other hand, ain't taking it too well."

Jax shrugged and his eyes turned into hard blue marbles. For the first time, Bobby saw a different man inside the kutte. "Tigger has no choice but to toe the line. I _will_ have a problem with him if he stirs shit up with Clay at the table."

"You think he will?" Bobby cocked an eyebrow.

"I know Clay's gonna have a hard time letting go," Jax replied as he poured two more shots. "He's been at the head of the table for a long, long time. If Clay should come to regret his decision of stepping down, with Tig for back up, shit could get seriously twisted. For Tig's sake, however, they better not."

"Meaning?" Bobby chuckled a little apprehensively.

Jax smiled coldly. "Meaning that the SAA patch won't be the only one I strip from him," he replied, his tone deadly serious. "I'll transfer his ass to another charter."

* * *

"Just how is it that _I'm_ the last fuckin' one to know shit around here?" Gemma complained as she crossed her arms over her chest.

Now that the change of leadership was a done deal, Clay had been left with the duty of breaking the news to his old lady. He left the celebration in a hurry, barely stopping long enough for a celebratory drink before heading to his bike. Hoping that his arthritic mitts didn't fail him, Clay headed straight home knowing that if his old lady heard the news from someone not him, his ass would be ground into meat for the neighbor's dog.

"Now, baby, you know that's not true," Clay replied as he wrapped his arms around her waist. "You're not the last, and certainly not the least."

Standing in the Morrow's kitchen wearing nothing but a black robe and her favorite bedroom slippers, Gemma Teller-Morrow eyed her husband with extreme irritation.

"Don't think you can sweet talk my ass, Clay," she warned. As the occupant of the large ornate bird cage sitting on the counter dividing the kitchen from the dining room squawked loudly, Gemma turned around to give the bird the hairy eyeball. "Not you, asshole, _this_ Clay," she said as her old man shook his head in amused bafflement.

"I still can't believe you named that damn bird after me," he said with no little amount of irritation.

"After Cheney died while you were inside, I needed company. Since I missed talking to your grumpy ass, I figured why not? But right now," she turned and stabbed Clay in the shoulder with a French-manicured index finger, "I'm not interested in talking about the fuckin' bird. I'm dying to hear how you're going to talk yourself out of handing the Club over to my son with me only hearing about it _now_."

 _Shit, I knew she was gonna be difficult_ , Clay thought as he looked into her stormy brown eyes.

"It happened all of thirty minutes ago, Gem. In order to hear about it any sooner, you would have been sitting at the fuckin' table," Clay replied. _You know, like you think you already do._ As his woman gave him the fish eye, Clay sighed and ran a hand over his silver hair. "Look, baby, things just kind of happened is all."

"Just happened, huh?" Gemma focused narrowed eyes on her target. "You just _happened_ to decide to give up the gavel at Church tonight?" It just wasn't adding up for Gemma.

 _Not voluntary, sweetheart_ , Clay thought wearily.

Trying a different approach, Clay replied, "You know, for a proud mama bear, I thought you would be over the fuckin' moon about this shit."

"I am, baby, I am."

In fact, Gemma was more than pleased. Inwardly, she was doing fuckin' back flips down Main Street. But as happy as she was about this new development, Gemma could see deep in her old man's eyes that he wasn't. It was for the sake of his fragile male ego that she tempered her response by being snarky and nitpicky.

Gemma was no fool, however, and saw the need to tone it down a little, afraid of overplaying grabbing her old man's hand in her own, Gemma pulled Clay to her. Clutching his hand to her chest, she squeezed it lightly.

"I know the man I married, Clay," Gemma stated softly, "enough to know that this can't be an easy thing for you to do. I thought you said there was still time, at least a couple of years before you would have to step down."

 _I did!_ Clay thought, but the last thing he was going to admit to his old lady was that he had—to some extent—been outmaneuvered by Jax.

"Baby, now just seemed like the right time."

"So what does this all mean for you?"

Clay shrugged his shoulders. "Nothing that really matters has changed. I'm still entitled to my finder's fee and percentage of all the gun business. My hands aren't done for yet, so as long as I keep riding I still have a vote, and even though Jax is calling the shots, I don't see that there will be any internal conflicts. It's his Club now and I am confident in the man _I raised_. _I_ made him and my son knows what he's doing," Clay grinned. "He's enough like me to know how to maneuver shit to work to his advantage. I taught him well," he said with a hint a pride.

"Yes you did," Gemma grinned back. "Do you recall what I said to you a while back?"

Clay bent over to kiss her hand. "What, baby?"

"That one day Jackson would take over the Club, but only by following _the right father's footsteps_ ," she said quietly. "He has, you know. You do realize that, don't you?"

"I do," Clay nodded nostalgically. "He sure as shit was a real handful as a kid, though. There were plenty of times I didn't think Jax and I would survive the experience. I was never really cut out to be a father, you know."

"I know that's what you believed," Gemma started. "It should be clear to you by now, Clay. That shit wasn't true."

Gemma sighed inwardly. _What a twisted history we've had together—me, JT and Clay_. In spite of all the shit storms they had faced, in the end everything worked out the way it needed to. The only way that mattered.

"Well, I hope those mitts of yours are up for one more ride tonight," Gemma suddenly announced. "I am going upstairs to thrown on my glad rags and you are taking me to the Clubhouse so I can officially congratulate the new President—my son—in person."

"I guess I can manage one more ride," Clay allowed somewhat weary.

"And when we get home," Gemma said slyly, "I'll treat you to a different kind of ride," she winked at him.

"Oh, hey now," Clay said suavely as her meaning became clear.

_I guess I get to celebrate too!_

* * *

Tara ran a trembling and agitated hand through her sleep-tousled hair. "Why is it that I always believe you when you say shit is going to work out?" she hissed through clenched teeth.

"Because I meant what I said when I said it, Tara," Jax replied tersely as he focused his eyes on his clearly angry old lady. "It's not like I planned for shit to go down this way," he said evenly, trying to keep a rein on his growing temper.

Tara laughed out loud derisively, causing Jax to narrow his eyes at her. Taking a deep breath to control her fit of near-hysterical laughter, she crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the kitchen counter. "Please, like you never planned on taking over the Club, Jax. Feed that line of bullshit to one of those stupid club whores always hanging around," she retorted, her angry eyes boring holes into her old man.

Jax's jaw clenched, refusing to let Tara bait him into turning their conversation into a bitter confrontation. "I did what needed to be done. You're acting like this shit doesn't affect me too," he said evenly, the strain to control his anger clearly audible in his voice.

"It _does_ affect you! It's all about you, Jax! _You're_ finally getting what you've always wanted since you were five years old. The gavel to go along with that fuckin' kutte on your back!" she screamed, the sudden urge to just slam her head repeatedly against the nearest wall nearly overwhelming her.

_And I'm the one that get's screwed! Again!_

"Babe," Jax started coldly. "I know I just sprung this shit on you, so I'm gonna cut you some slack, but you're gonna want to throttle back on the attitude just a bit."

Capping off a long day at St. Thomas with an emergency surgery just as she was about to walk out the door, Tara had come home late that evening to relieve Elyda from babysitting duty. After feeding, bathing and putting Abel to bed, she had taken a long shower, making the effort to sex herself up a little in anticipation of Jax's return from the Clubhouse. She had waited in vain for hours as it was now clear that Jax had been held back by the party that celebrated his installation as SAMCRO's newest President.

Tempted to rip her own hair out by the roots, Tara suddenly remembered telling Margaret Murphy earlier in the day that she would be staying in Charming after all. It was just a momentary change of plans, she had assured Margaret, saying that she was going to give Jax some time to take care of some business before she broached the subject of them leaving Charming together as a family. If he refused, she would drop an ultimatum of leaving with or without him. Of course, Margaret had been disappointed, especially after she had tracked Tara down to give her some good news. After three months of trying to find her a surgical position elsewhere, she had finally succeeded. _Three_ out-of-state and prestigious hospitals were very interested in Tara, the two she had asked Margaret to look into—one in Seattle and the other in Oregon—and a third on the East Coast in Boston.

The offer from Boston Children's Hospital had taken Tara by surprise. That had been her first choice for her residency, as it had been for hundreds of other doctors. Unfortunately, she didn't get an offer and ended up at Chicago Presbyterian instead. The thought of turning the offer down now had pained Tara, but that's exactly what she intended to do. She knew Margaret couldn't understand her sudden about face when it came to getting out of Charming. On some level, Tara couldn't understand it herself. This obsession she had with Jackson Teller should have died a natural death when she first left Charming. Trying to pick up where they had left off after she returned had only created more problems than it was probably worth.

Tara had fooled herself into thinking that once she had an offer from another hospital she would be able to leave Charming and Jax behind. And, maybe, if the offers had come before Jax's release from Stockton she would have been able to make the move. But now with Jax back in her life she hoped that he would finally wake up and realize that attempts to fix SAMCRO were futile at best and that he would agree to starting a new life together somewhere else. Now Tara realized that his earlier talk of leaving the Life had been a knee-jerk reaction to having come so close to dying in prison.

After learning that just one day out of Stockton and Jax had already altered their plans for the future, Tara now realized that she should have packed her bags then. Too macho to live off her salary, Jax had tried to convince her that, given enough time, he would be able to turn the Club away from outlaw and into more legitimate businesses. Tara had scoffed at his idea of reviving Cara Cara Studios because in her mind, peddling porn was just as bad as selling guns. But once again, Tara had fallen into the same trap with Jax by listening to her heart instead of her mind and believing him, choosing to support him in the hopes of being able to convince him later—once he failed miserably at legitimizing the MC—to leave the Life altogether.

Now barely two days later, without her knowledge or input, Jax had made the decision to take over the Club, throwing just another hurdle in the path of her exit strategy, all the while expecting her to just accept his bullshit.

_Not fuckin' likely!_

But facing the blue eyes that for the first time Tara could remember were staring at her coldly, she tried to get herself under control. Sitting down at one end of the kitchen table, Tara reached over to turn off the baby monitor sitting in front of her before she spoke. "What I can't understand," she started slowly, her voice low, "is _why_. Why would Clay step down now and why would you volunteer to take his place when you know how much I want out of here?"

Jax grabbed a chair from the kitchen table. Turning it around, he straddled it, his long legs stretched out before him. "Clay didn't step down willingly and I didn't volunteer to take the gavel. I _took_ it from him," he replied as he pulled out a pack of smokes and his lighter from his kutte, followed by a small black and white patch that read "PRESIDENT". Dropping it on the table, Jax lit a cigarette and blew out a trail of blue smoke before he started to fill his old lady in on the particulars.

Stunned that such a small scrap of material could have such a huge impact on her life, Tara stared blankly at the patch. She sat and listened passively, never making eye contact with her old man as he detailed how he had ended up at the head of the table. And _why_.

Jax watched, her lips trembling with emotion as Tara sat without comment until he was finished. Her head suddenly snapped up. "It's not enough that you're dealing bigger, more powerful guns, now the Club's going into the drug business, too?" she asked, horrified.

"We're not dealing, babe, just muling. Clay set it up in Stockton and it was the only way to secure the deal with the Cartel for the guns," Jax explained quietly. "The only way I can keep the Club protected—both from the ROC _and_ from the Cartel—is to go along with it. Clay was so focused on making an obscene amount of money with this deal that he had tunnel vision. He couldn't see a way out and didn't care to find one. I had to take over, Tara. The Club needs an exit strategy in place so that we can get out of this clean and whole. Once that's done and we've banked enough money, going legit is just a matter of—" Jax suddenly stopped as Tara shook her head violently.

"Don't sit here and think that I'm going to swallow another line of your bullshit, Jax. I DON'T BELIEVE YOU ANYMORE!" Tara ground out bitterly, the tears she had been holding back spilling down her cheeks. In shock, Jax's blue eyes met her dark green ones. "You don't want to leave the Club any more than your mother would want you to leave Charming. You never even consulted me before making the decision to takeover the Club. This decision affects me too and I have a right to a say—"

"No you don't," Jax's voice was suddenly dark and cold. "You are not a member of my Club. You're an old lady," he emphasized as he looked into her wide, troubled eyes. " _My old lady_ , and I love you, Tara, but don't confuse me with Clay or JT. _I_ run this Club now, not Clay, not Gemma, _and not_ _you_. I let my Club die, a piece of me dies with it and that's not gonna happen. I'm gonna do whatever's necessary to get SAMCRO whole again. After, and only after, if it makes sense at the time, we'll revisit plans to leave Charming, but I ain't promising shit." Jax stood up, grabbed his cigarettes and his patch. He bent over and kissed Tara hard on the forehead before heading for the door. "You can either get on board with that or not, darlin', but this is the _only_ way it's gonna be."


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sons of Anarchy. I do, however, own Marlowe and any other OCs that appear in the 2 Sons Universe.**

* * *

_**Bakersfield, CA – Saturday, April 17, 2010** _

It was a surprisingly warm spring day when the hot, but breezy winds coming down the I-5 S blew Happy Lowman's ass into Bakersfield.

Coming down the wide stretch of highway, the sun was relentless as it beat down on the biker, its bright rays blocked by the dark protective riding glasses he wore. The blustery warm breeze provided no relief as sweat poured down Happy's back. After a long fourteen months in prison, however, he was relishing the freedom of being on the open road once again. Just him, his kutte, and his ride.

The run to Bakersfield was his first real opportunity to put some miles on his bike since his release and Happy was thoroughly enjoying getting reacquainted with his beloved Dyna. Of course, that is, after he spent a significant amount of time letting his dick get reacquainted with some Club pussy. With the cream of the SAMCRO crop locked up, the pickins' had been limited to mostly hang-arounds and Prospects and the croweaters had been chomping at the bit in order to get their hands on him and Tig.

Getting stuck running interference for Clay, Jax and Opie as they eluded the pigs on their way to rendezvous with Putlova, Happy had to put a temporary hold on getting his freak on. Afterward, however, all bets were off as he made a beeline back to the lot and dove face first into the welcome home pussy buffet over a year in the making.

Watching Happy with his arms full of croweaters, Herman Kozik had grinned wryly. "Don't go breaking your dick, brother. You still need to be able to ride."

"Oh, I'm gonna get plenty of riding done, bro," Happy growled through an evil smirk as he kneaded a plump ass encased in tight black leather pants. "These bitches are tired of making do with your California beach boy ass. They need someone to remind them what a real man tastes like."

Kozik shook his head, his response short and succinct. "Bite me," he smirked back as he flipped Happy the bird.

"You must have me confused with Tigger," Hap replied as he headed towards his dorm. "Catch you later, Kozy. _Way later_." The two croweaters he was hauling back to his room, a redhead and a blond, squealed with delight, eager to put an end to their fourteen-month Happy drought. Where the Unholy One lacked in romance and making small talk, he more than made up for in stamina and skill.

After his private party, Happy spent the next few days stripping down his bike, giving it a thorough cleaning and tune-up before reassembling it. Now, his ride was roaring like a fuckin' lion, intimidating the hell out of anyone who crossed its path.

Having lived the Life for so long, being cut off from what made him a biker was nothing new for Happy, who knew that making a return trip to the Pen was always a possibility. However, whenever he got out of the joint, Happy always had a newer appreciation for the life he had chosen for himself and, even though he always missed ridin', fuckin' and fightin' while locked up, it was the family he left behind in Bakersfield that he missed the most, which was why as soon as he got some downtime, he headed straight home.

Although it had been his intention to make a quick run to Bakersfield as soon as he was released, Club life had interceded and almost a week had passed. Opie's wedding on their first day out, bloody retaliation against the ROC, and numerous Club upheavals—the last of which had a huge impact on his life—had kept Happy preoccupied and prevented him from making it down to see his mother.

Taking a quick glance down at the right side of his kutte, Happy couldn't read the upside down words at the speed he was travelling but he knew they were there. After all, he had sewn on the patch that now sat proudly above the one that identified him as an Unholy One himself.

Happy had been a member of the Club for nearly 20 years and when he had patched in at 24, joining the Club that John Teller and Piney Winston had built had never been about getting rich, making a name for himself or even becoming an officer. It was the brotherhood and sense of family that had drawn him in. Over the years, Happy had managed to make a name for himself anyway, being dubbed the Tacoma Killer by his SAMTAC brothers, commemorating a number of gruesome deeds he had handled on their behalf. As a result, over the years, Happy had developed a reputation known throughout all the charters as one willing to do whatever was required, without hesitation, for his blood brothers. Doing some heinous shit had earned him not only the privilege of being patched as an "Unholy One", but had earned him the respect of his brothers and the fear of everyone else.

Now, he had been given the privilege of serving his Club and his President as Sergeant-at-Arms and, yet as proud as he was that Jax had seen fit to place that kind of trust in him, Happy couldn't help but feel for the brother he had replaced. As the road brought him ever closer to Bakersfield, Happy thought about his conversation with Tig after the wild party to celebrate the Club's new leadership.

* * *

_**Charming, CA – Tuesday, April 13, 2010** _

_Making his way through the piles of sprawled bodies littering the Clubhouse, Happy, wearing nothing but his boots, a pair of jeans and his kutte, stepped outside into the bright light of day. Surprisingly, despite considerabl_ e _effort on his behalf, his hangover wasn't bullet-in-the-head-worthy. Nonetheless, Happy wanted some fresh air despite the fact that the stale smell of liquor, weed and pussy permeating the Clubhouse always made him feel right at home. Stopping just outside the Clubhouse door, he saw Tig, sitting on top of the picnic table seemingly staring out into space._

_That they needed to talk was a no-brainer and Happy figured that, with the lot quiet and empty as it was still early, there was no time to do it like the present. Hey, if shit got out of control, they could always hop into the ring right behind them and get the healing started. It wouldn't be the first time and, if it happened, it wasn't likely to be the last either._

_Sauntering over, Happy held out the open pack of cigarettes and offered one to Tig, who took one without comment. Taking one himself, Happy lit his smoke and tossed Tig the lighter so he could do the same. He took a seat next to Tig and the two brothers sat in companionable silence for a while before the former-SAA finally spoke._

" _Last night, that was an interesting turn of events_ _," Tig said as he blew out a trail of smoke._

" _Yeah," Happy allowed. "It was." His dark eyes met his brother's fiercely blue ones. "You gonna be okay with that?"_

_Tig shrugged. "Don't really matter if I am or not. It's a done deal now, and I know why he did it," he sighed, referring to Jax. "But I guess if somebody had to take my patch, I'm glad it was you, bro," he said as he gazed directly into Happy's eyes. "I really mean that shit."_

_Seeing his brother's sincerity, Happy nodded. "I know you do, brother, and I ain't replacing you. Nobody could ever replace your crazy ass 'cause you know I draw the line at biting shit, right?" Happy grinned and Tig snorted with a measure of pride._

" _Yeah, you were always a bit girly about putting your mouth on another man. First rule of defense, use what you have available, so biting is totally fuckin' permissible and not a bitch move. I don't know why you don't get that shit," Tig complained as Happy laughed, the sound a cross between a chuckle and growl._

_Finally stubbing out his cigarette, Happy slapped a hand on his brother's back. "All this change for the Club, it's a lot at one time, but I got to believe that Jax has the Club's best interest at heart. Even if," he wrinkled his face in disgust, "the boy insists on wearing sneakers instead of proper boots."_

_At that the two bikers eyed each other's footwear. Tig had on a pair black leather steel-toed riding boots he had custom-made in Encino. Happy's may have been a bit worn—what he liked to call "broken in"—but they were stylish as fuck, black leather embossed in a decorative python pattern. Both men grunted their approval at each other's gear._

_Tig ran a hand through his unruly hair and eyed his brother. "Look, I know the MC's his legacy and shit, but I've been handling shit for this Club for years—" he shrugged halfheartedly. "I just feel like I got spit on and told none of what I've done is worth dick in his eyes."_

_The fact was that, while Tig had always appreciated his ability to think outside the box, there were times where he wondered whether Jax had the stones to make decisions in an instant and do what was needed for the Club. Like his stepfather, to really get bloody. Tig's relationship with Clay had spanned decades and the two were really very much like brothers. Although Clay had put on a good show convincing the table that stepping away from the gavel had been an easy decision to make, Tig knew otherwise._

" _Bro, I wouldn't take it as a personal attack. Every man at that table has something to contribute, so just let your actions show that you support the Club_ _and_ _stand by your President," Happy advised. "With the Cartel deal weighing heavy on the MC, we can't let internal beefs distract us. That happens, mistakes get made, shit slips through the cracks and people die."_

_Tig nodded in agreement. "_ _I hear you, brother."_

" _So we good?"_

_Tig made a "pffft" sound through pursed lips. "Get the fuck outta here, bro. You and me, we'll_ _always be tight, you know this."_

" _Good, 'cause I'm gonna need your ass as back up while I'm gone," Happy revealed._

_Tig raised an eyebrow. "Where you going?"_

" _Clay got word from the Irish last night. Kozik and Miles are heading up to Canada to pick up the merch and bring it down. With no insurance money to rebuild the warehouse, Jax and Clay are still working on securing a new storage site, so Jax asked if I could do the Club a solid," Happy explained. "I'm heading home for a few days to square shit away, but I don't like leaving my Pres unprotected. While I'm gone, I'm gonna need you to watch his back."_

_Tig stroked the hair on his chin and shook his head wryly. "Brother, I know you were there last night. The last place Jax wants me is behind him."_

" _Shows what little you know, asshole. Not_ _only did he clear it, but he said it was a good call."_

_The disbelief was heavy in Tig's voice, "Really?"_

" _I ain't shitting you, bro," Happy replied soberly._

_Well, maybe I am just a little_ _._

_As a matter of fact, it hadn't been at all easy convincing Jax that Tig would be all that willing to begin with. Happy figured that, in this situation, what either brother knew or didn't know wouldn't hurt either of them. Jax needed to know that Tig was still solid with the Club and Tig needed to have his ego stroked after the hit he'd suffered the night before. He could see by the now-relieved look in Tig's eyes that he had been right._

" _If that's what Jax really wants, you_ _know I'm there, Hap."_

" _He does. Just be the brother he already knows," Happy advised, "but pull back on the bat-shit crazy. I know it'll be all good." As they both got off the picnic table, Happy held out a hand to Tig and they bro-hugged it out._

" _When you heading out, brother?" Tig asked as they pulled away._

" _In a few days. Jax is keeping my ass running. He wants me, Idiot and Bobby to scout out and buy the shit we're gonna need to build the shipping crates to transport the merch for the first run. Gonna use one of the bays to start the initial prep work until we secure the new gun depot_ _," Happy replied. "I'll head on down to Ma's, take care of shit and be back in a couple of days and when I am, you know we're gonna hit the—"_

_Tig was grinning as they both bellowed loud enough to wake the dead,_ _"—_ _Jellybean!"_

* * *

_**Bakersfield, CA – Saturday, April 17, 2010** _

Happy was smiling as he continued to make his way down the highway knowing that Tig was probably yanking his hair out, anxiously anticipating their next venture to their favorite strip club.

On the surface, there was nothing really extraordinary about the Jellybean except how truly fugly the strippers were. As a matter of fact, Opie had a point in labeling them "horsemeat in g-strings". The haggard-looking bitches swinging listlessly around a pole had been called many things, but easy on the eyes was certainly NOT one of them. The Brothers Grim—as Happy and Tig were known by all the regulars and employees at the strip club—would never recommend the Jellybean to anyone looking to indulge in some eye candy.

If you wanted to jerk off to some tight little body with massive fake tits and a pretty face, the Brothers Grim would advise you to keep walking 'cause you won't find it there. _But_ if you didn't mind looking at sagging skin with visible c-section scars and deflated party balloons where tits used to be while getting head until your eyes crossed as a result of the incredible suction on your dick, then come right in 'cause the Jellybean Lounge was the place to be.

Happy was satisfied that he had addressed the elephant in the room with Tig and had smoothed shit over with his brother before leaving Charming. Reinforcing their bond as they shoved dollar bills into the snatches and ass cracks of tired-looking strippers-slash-hookers, however, would have to wait. Happy had business to attend to, both for the Club and of a personal nature.

With the trip getting pushed off a few more days by the Pres, it was now some six days out of Stockton before Happy was finally pulling off the highway and heading down the familiar streets of his old neighborhood. Though he was looking forward to seeing his family, he knew that with each passing traffic light he was steadily drawing ever closer to the righteous ass chewing Amelia Lowman probably had in store for him.

 _But knowing Ma, she'll stuff me with good eats as she's doing it,_ Happy thought as he cut over to the next lane to avoid a car full of joy-riding teenagers. _And I'm a'ight with that_.

The biker had resigned himself to the fact that he had it coming anyway, especially since after Marlowe's unexpected visit to him in Stockton Happy had made no further contact with either woman. Holding true to his belief that he needed to keep his emotions firmly in check and his family out of his head while inside, he had limited himself to accepting the few letters he had received from them, never writing back. Happy refused to acknowledge to himself, however, just how important those letters were to him and how he had practically memorized each one word for word.

On the day he got out, Happy had called to let his mother know that he was alive and would be by to see her soon, but no one had been home. He had left a brief message on the answering machine and hadn't called back. With all the shit the Club had on tap those first few days after being paroled, he had done his best to keep his head and his heart separate. Knowing that his mother was alive and waiting for him was all that really mattered. Learning that her cancer was in remission let him put family matters in a box for the moment as he focused on getting shit done for the Club.

Now that he had a few days to focus on family matters, Happy had used some of his downtime before heading to Bakersfield to do some investigative work on the next steps necessary to get his mother completely whole again. As stubborn as the Cuban woman was, he knew it was going to take a good minute to get his mother on board with his plans, but unlike Marlowe, he wasn't about to let Amelia give him any shit. She was going to do as she was told whether she wanted to or not. Sometimes, the best and simplest way to deal with a headstrong woman was not to give her a choice to begin with.

Pulling into the large driveway that ran the length of the right side of the house, Happy parked behind two cars—his mother's dark blue Corolla and a real piece of shit Escort he assumed belonged to Marlowe. Cutting off the engine, Happy removed his helmet and hung it from the handle bars. He smirked as he noted the explosion of colorful spring flowers that spilled from the large clay pots on the porch and the window boxes. Their fragrance mixed with the scent of fresh herbs growing in Amelia's makeshift garden off the side of the house which included the ever-present vines of green peas. The meticulously-kept front lawn looked as if it had just been mowed and was a deep, vibrant and healthy green.

 _Ma's water bill must be through the fuckin' roof,_ Happy thought as he got off his bike and stretched his taut frame. _And I hope she has Marlowe doing her bitch work or I'm gonna tan both their hides_. Slipping off his dark riding glasses, he hung them from the collar of his white t-shirt and started up the walkway of zigzagging slabs of multi-colored slate stones. He remembered installing the walkway himself about a year before doing his first serious stretch in prison.

Making it only about halfway, Happy allowed a small smile to slip onto his face as the sturdy screen door was shoved open, revealing a tall and familiar figure standing in the doorway and leaning on a cane.

"Aye Dios mio!" Amelia managed to shriek as she slowly made her way towards the edge of the porch. "What took you so long to drag your ass home, hijo?"

"Sorry, Ma," Happy replied as he made his way up the short flight of steps. "I had some shit to take care of first, but I'm here now, a'ight?"

"So, taking care of some shit es mas importante que tu propia madre, eh?" Amelia scolded, half in English and half in Spanish, a sure sign she was pissed. "Tell me, Kique, after I carried you for nine months, nurturing you with my own body and enduring twenty-six hours of labor, what's more important than coming home to see your mother?"

"Shit, nothing, Ma! Melodramatic much?" Happy's voice was gruff but not without emotion as he carefully looked his mother over, inwardly sighing with relief.

 _She's looking a hell of a lot better_ , he thought approvingly, noting that she was no longer gaunt, her face and long frame fuller and softer. But while Amelia Lowman's appearance had significantly improved, her demeanor had not. Wrapping her arms around her son's sturdy frame, she continued her litany of Spanglish abuse interspersed with exclamations of love and joy.

"And what the hell was that message you left? _'I'm out and I'll catch you later'_? I'm not one of your homies, Kique," she scolded.

" _Brothers_ , Ma, not 'homies' and stop bitching, a'ight?" Happy ordered. Putting a finger across her mouth to shut her up, he tenderly kissed her forehead. "I'm here now."

Standing behind the screen door, Marlowe leaned against the wall and watched as mother and son reunited after not seeing each other for over a year. As Amelia shed unabashed tears, thanking God in heaven for seeing her son through another ordeal, Marlowe gave herself a stern talking to.

 _Don't even think about losing your shit! There's no reason for Hap to know just how glad you are to see him again, out, safe and whole_ , she chastised herself.

"Geez, I stopped cleaning the toilet for _this_?" Marlowe drawled, her arms crossed over her chest. "You'd think that with all the commotion and racket going on someone special had dropped by or something." She twisted her lips into a hard grimace as Happy raised his head to meet her eyes.

"What the fuck _you_ still doing around?" Happy asked condescendingly. "With the habit you have of doing stupid shit, I thought by now you would have run away again and joined the circus."

Marlowe fake-pouted at Happy. "Aw, are you grumpy 'cause you miss your prison husband?"

Happy glared at her through narrow slits. "I wasn't grumpy 'til I laid eyes on you, little girl."

Ushering everyone inside, Amelia smiled as her two children continued to snipe at each other. Closing the door behind her, she sighed happily as once again all was right with her world.

* * *

"Ma, can you at least let me eat my shit before taking a chunk outta my ass?" Happy complained as he tried to shove a forkful of the almost heavenly rice and black beans into his mouth. "You have no idea what the food was like in the joint."

"No, I don't and the fact that you do is no one's fault but your own, Kique, so I don't really give a shit," Amelia retorted as she sat across from him in her kitchen. "Fourteen months and not one letter or phone call. You're as bad as this one!" She pointed at Marlowe.

"Hey, don't drag me into this! I was here," Marlowe shot back. " _And_ I went to Stockton to see about him."

" _After_ I nearly nagged you to death, Marley," Amelia said tersely.

Happy smirked, grateful for the reprieve as the two women continued to bicker. _The more they chew each other out, the better my chances are of finishing my food in peace._

Scooping up the last of his roast pork and the fresh avocado straight from Amelia's garden, Happy wiped his mouth with a napkin as he sat back in his chair. Seeing that he had finally finished eating, Amelia waved an impatient hand at Marlowe. "Hija, please, you're making me tired and I still have to deal with this one," she said as she turned to her son and focused a pair of sharp eyes on him. "I'm still waiting for an explanation, Enrique. You've been out almost a week now—"

"Ma, I told you," Happy shook his head with an impatient eye roll. "I had shit to take care of."

"Shit? What shit? Like sewing?" Amelia inquired with a raised eyebrow as Marlowe tried and failed to stifle her laughter.

"Don't you have a toilet to clean or something?" Happy growled at Marlowe, who stuck her tongue out at him as his mother continued talking over him.

"What's that thing—what do you call it—that new sticker on your jacket-vest thing?" Marlowe's eyes widened as Amelia pointed a finger at the kutte adorning Happy's muscular frame.

"Ma, how many times do I have to tell you? It's not a jacket or a vest, it's a _kutte_ and it's not a sticker, it's a patch," he said in a long-suffering tone.

"Last time I checked, a jacket without sleeves was called a vest, mijo, but whatever," Amelia shrugged her shoulders. "What does Sergeant-at-Arms mean? I know that's some sort of Army talk, right?"

"I ain't in no fuckin' Army, Ma. Unlike Marley, I don't have shit for brains," Happy replied as he got up to put his empty plates in the sink.

"Coulda fooled me 'cause how many times do I have to tell you I was in the _Navy_ , asshole?" Marlowe retorted.

Happy grabbed a beer from the fridge and sat down again. "As many times as it takes for me to understand why the fuck, which will be _never_ , brat."

For a brief moment, Marlowe considered throwing Happy's ass under the bus by telling Amelia just exactly what that new patch meant. _Tía, it means that your son is probably the Club's trigger man and bullet catcher_.Meeting Happy's knowing glare, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking of doing, Marlowe batted her eyelashes at him sweetly and kept her mouth shut.

"It just means I have a little more responsibility in the Club is all," Happy answered. "I handle shit."

"Ave Maria, you handling a lot of shit lately, huh? Well, will any of that shit-handling put you inside again?" Amelia wanted to know.

"It's not like that, Ma," he lied and not for the first time.

Amelia crossed her arms. "Then tell me what it's like, Kique."

Happy took a long sip of his bottle of Corona, buying himself some time. "It ain't a big thing, Ma. Like now, I just need to make use of the storage room to hold some shit for the Club for a few days."

Marlowe felt her shoulders tense as she eyed her brother. _Storing shit for the Club, huh? I know what that means_ , she thought grimly, _and I don't fuckin' like it_.

Despite the fact that Happy did his level best to keep Club business separate from his family, Marlowe had known him long enough to figure out just what business his Club was involved with a long time ago. Happy claimed that he was just a mechanic and part-time tattoo artist, but the Sons of Anarchy were a well-known outlaw biker club. Amelia was good at feigning ignorance of exactly how the Club her son lived for earned its living, but Marlowe had grown up street savvy and knew exactly what the deal was.

So before Amelia could open her mouth, Marlowe took Happy to task. "Are you out of your mind? You're storing your guns _here_?"

His face betraying nothing, Happy slowly turned his head to face his mother and cocked an eyebrow at her. "Don't look at me like that, Enrique. I never said anything to Marley. She's just good at figuring shit out is all."

"Knowledge of what I bring into this house is on a need-to-know basis, Marlowe, and you don't need to know because it has nothing to do with you," Happy's voice was low and gravelly.

"What I do know is that your ass is out on parole. You may want to end up back in the joint, but I don't!" Marlowe shot back. "I mean, I don't want this shit taking Amelia and me down with you. Ever think of that?"

He had, but at the moment Happy didn't have much of a choice. The first shipment of guns for the Cartel had arrived ahead of schedule. Until the Club's release from Stockton, merch from the RIRA had been trafficked and stored for the Club by Putlova's crew. Now that the ROC was permanently out of the picture, the Club had called on Happy to store the weapons until Clay could get a hold of Elliott Oswald in order to secure a new storage facility. Until then, they needed a temporary place to house the guns and Bakersfield was a hell of a lot closer than Tacoma.

Jax had hesitated asking for such a favor, but when he finally approached him about it, Happy had readily agreed. After all, the last place anyone would suspect of being an arms depot would be his mother's place. Marlowe could protest all she wanted, but with Kozik and Miles already on their way down from Canada with the shipment, it was a done deal. And hopefully, the last time Happy would have to make use of his mother's house in such a way.

"Yeah, I've thought about it. As long as Ma doesn't go running down the block to Mrs. Guzman and tells her we're having a two-for-one yard sale on Glocks, I think I got shit covered," Happy said irritably. "And you keep your mouth shut, too." He pointed at Marlowe with his beer bottle before polishing off the remainder of its contents.

Amelia sighed as she eyed her disreputable but much loved son. "Sometimes I don't know what I'm supposed to do with you," she muttered.

"What can you do? I'm your favorite son." Happy flashed an actual smile at his mother and Marlowe almost fell out of her chair.

"You're my _only_ son and a royal pain in the ass to boot," she replied. "So there better be enough room back there for storage because I don't want none of that shit cluttering up my living room."

Amelia's passive agreement to her son's request set Marlowe's teeth on edge. _What the hell is it about Latino sons that lets them exercise mind control over their otherwise law-abiding mothers?_

"There'll be plenty of room after Marley helps me clear out some shit," Happy replied casually as he noted the fire in his sister's eyes.

"I don't recall volunteering," Marlowe said as she pointedly looked at her fingernails. "Maybe I got more important shit to do."

"You know that's true," Amelia started. "I was telling Vivica what a green thumb you have and she wants me to send you over to help her aerate her garden. She mentioned something about getting her hands on some horse dung she wants to use as fertilizer."

"You know what," Marlowe amended quickly, "Happy shouldn't have to do all that reorganizing by himself, Tía. I think we can put off me standing knee deep in horseshit indefinitely, thank you very much."

Leaning back in his chair, Happy folded his hands behind his gleaming head and grinned as two of the most important women in his life started to bicker again.

_Nothing like being back home._

* * *

_**Bakersfield, CA – Sunday, April 18, 2010** _

"So where's my nephew?" Celia Lopez tossed her handbag down on the kitchen table. Sitting down in her favorite chair, Ceci's hazel eyes bounced back and forth between Amelia and Marlowe as she impatiently tapped her fingernails in a staccato beat on the oak wood table.

Marlowe walked to the table and placed a cup of espresso in front of each of the sisters before sitting down. "He went off to dump some garbage and shit. He should be back soon."

"It's about time he shows up, don't you think?" the no-nonsense history teacher said before sipping at her coffee. "Que cabrón! If I hadn't been so busy drafting a test for my students, I would have come right over last night after you called, Mellie, and slapped him on the back of his bald head."

"Tests, now? Can't you give those kids a break, Ceci?" Amelia asked as she sipped her coffee.

"Tu sabes como yo soy, Mellie. I love my students, but you've got to be firm to keep them in hand or they'll walk all over you and you know I don't play," Ceci defended herself.

 _No you don't_ , Marlowe thought with a sly smile. Sometimes she wondered how Happy would have turned out if Ceci had been his mother instead. _Shit, she would have run his ass into the ground_.

Celia Lopez was no shrinking violet. Having grown up first in San Miguel del Padrón, then on the streets of Miami being passed around from relative to relative, the younger of the Lopez girls had no choice but to develop a thick armor coating. After all, she had to watch over her older but soft-hearted and incredibly naïve-at-times sister, especially after they moved to California to attend college. Only two years apart, the sisters had an impenetrable bond and the only outsider to ever breach it had been Amelia's husband Manny, his brotherly love and affection towards Ceci melting her cold reserve.

Despite being a beauty in her own right, Ceci had been far more interested in academics. After suffering through a few relationships that had ended badly, Ceci decided to dedicate her life to her career, never ruling out marriage, but never pursuing it either. As the years passed, that had been a choice she had some lingering regrets having made. Now, instead of a family of her own, the only family Ceci had was her sister, Happy and Marlowe. That being the case, after Amelia's recent health crisis, she was determined that her nephew take her sister in hand since Mellie refused to listen to anyone else.

"Forget my students," Ceci said as she placed the tiny white cup on its saucer with a sharp click. "Did Kique have anything to say about your knee sur—"

Amelia wagged a finger at her sister. "Oye, hermanita, don't come in here stirring shit up. The more you move mierda around, the more it stinks and I can handle my own mess just fine. I don't need you sticking your nose in it too."

"Why not? She loves sticking it into everything else," Happy replied laconically as he walked in through the kitchen's back door.

"Ay, carajo! No me jodas!" The woman Happy loved like a second mother jumped up from her seat and threw her arms around her nephew. "I should box your ears."

"Why, for speaking the truth?" Happy teased. "You know you're a nosy bitch, Tía."

"Mira, cabrón, watch your mouth, okay?" his aunt shot back even as her shoulders shook with laughter. "I don't even know why I love you so much."

Marlowe watched in stunned silence as Amelia joined in and the two older women continued to dote and hover over Happy, who was lapping up the attention as if it was his due. _After fourteen months in a federal prison, he gets welcomed back like a hometown hero. I come back and get my ass handed to me_ , Marlowe shook her head. _Jesus Christ, I should have been born a man!_

* * *

**Glossary**

**es mas importante que tu propia madre:** is more important than your own mother.

 **Oye, hermanita:** Listen, little sister

 **mierda** : shit

 **Ay, carajo! No me jodas:** [slang] Aw, hell! Don't fuck with me.

 **Mira,** **cabrón:** Look, you bastard


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sons of Anarchy. I do, however, own Marlowe and any other OCs that appear in the 2 Sons Universe.**

* * *

_**Bakersfield, CA – Monday, April 19, 2010** _

"He ain't too bad, but he still ain't shit compared to me," Happy boasted, lounging comfortably on the couch, his hands behind his head as the lead actor danced around the ring throwing and landing several hard blows on his sparring partner.

"I don't know about all that, but he sure is better to look at," Marlowe taunted as she admired the actor's built frame, from his muscled chest and abs of steel, right down to his low-riding boxing trunks. "Damn! He may be getting older, but I'm sure he can still rock the shit out of those Calvin Klein boxers he used to model."

" _What?!_ So I'm watching some pussy underwear model _pretend_ to be a boxer?" Happy asked, already losing all interest in _The Fighter_ with Mark Wahlberg. "Change this shit, Marley. Find something better to watch."

"Shows how much you know," Marlowe said from her position on the couch next to Happy as he flashed her an evil look. "But if you insist." She picked up the universal remote and surfed a few channels before stopping on a premium one. "There, _Machete_. Is that better?"

"Much," Happy nodded with approval.

"Of course, blood, guns, and big ass knives. How come I'm not surprised?" Marlowe snarked as she reached for the bowl of popcorn that sat between them.

Stretched out on opposite sides of the sofa in front of the wall-mounted flat screen, Marlowe and Happy had spent the last couple of hours watching movies and talking shit. Hanging out with Happy as they snarkily bashed the storylines and cheesy dialogue brought back fond memories of the times the outlaw biker would visit when Marlowe was a teenager. Hard to believe now, yes, but there had been a time when Happy was the one person she had been closest too. Although not always easy to talk to, Marlowe somehow always knew he listened and, even when he didn't know what to say, he always tried. All that changed, however, when she had joined the Navy.

His lifestyle choices made it blatantly obvious that Happy had very little regard for authority. Marlowe could understand why _he'd_ have a problem with joining the military as a career choice. _For Happy_ it wasn't an option, but it hadn't been like Marlowe had signed them up as a package deal. Joining the Navy had been Marlowe's career plan since before she had met Happy and Amelia. Never too keen on school, she had never planned on going to college, but wanted training that would lead her to a professional career helping people. Most of all, Marlowe wanted out of Bakersfield. She wanted to see the world and enjoy new experiences while young and unlike Happy, she didn't have the option of jumping on a Harley and hitting the road in order to broaden her horizons beyond her hometown.

Her choice to join the Navy straight out of high school had been a bitter pill for Happy to swallow, especially since Marlowe had never discussed making that decision with him or Amelia. Quite frankly, the truth was that she never even considered that what she chose to do with her life was something that would be open for debate. Even after eight years of living full-time in the Lowman household and being treated as a member of the family, Marlowe still couldn't help but feel like a charity case. In her mind, it was time to stand on her own and make something more of her life than her own mother had. Marlowe was determined not to give history the chance to repeat itself with whatever children she decided to bring into the world someday.

Happy, never failing to disappoint with his stubbornness, refused to see the situation from Marlowe's perspective. In his mind, this was just Marlowe Guthrie being a hard-headed bitch, just like her mother. The fact that he had no filter and expressed his feelings against her plans in just those exact words had sealed the deal for Marlowe. She graduated from high school and a week later left Bakersfield for basic training. Although Marlowe kept in touch with Amelia by phone when she could, but mostly by mail, the last words she had exchanged with Happy had been said in anger and hurt over ten years ago.

Now, as they sat watching movies while washing down buttery popcorn with ice cold beers, Marlowe could feel the elephant in the room knocking over and trampling on shit. The last thing she wanted to do was open up old wounds as well as fairly recent ones by bringing up her time in the military or why she was no longer on active duty. Tía considered it something of a major miracle that Happy hadn't forced the issue, but warned Marlowe that the day would come when she would have no choice but to talk shit out with her brother. And, unlike Marlowe, Amelia wasn't convinced that was a bad thing either. As far as she was concerned, her son and the young woman she loved like a daughter would both benefit from getting a lot of hurt off their chests, especially Marlowe.

Marlowe, however, wasn't looking forward to the inevitable and she was more than fine keeping the topic off the table for as long as possible. Thank God Ceci had decided to stay the night in order to visit with her nephew and had bunked with Amelia. Having those two around had provided the buffer Marlowe needed to keep her and Happy at arm's length. Keeping busy as they organized Marlowe's former bedroom, now Happy's storage room, there had not been a whole lot of time to catch up on the last decade.

Instead, Marlowe had spent much of her time bitching to Happy about life with her two aunts. Although the Lopez sisters only had each other, Amelia and Celia had a love/hate relationship. It didn't matter what time of day or situation at hand, they were constantly at odds and at each other's throats. After so many years away from home, Marlowe had forgotten what a pain in the ass playing referee between the two had been while growing up.

"You have no idea, but you owe me big time, Hap," Marlowe started as she lifted a box to stack against the wall. "I had hoped that maybe age had mellowed them out, but fuck, was I ever wrong. They're still quite a pair of cranky bitches."

_Thanks to the gruesome twosome, I'm back on_ _Xanax_ _on a daily basis._

"Don't be disrespectful," Happy said gruffly. "That's your family you're talkin' about."

"No shit, Hap. And I love them dearly, but you know what I mean. First, one of them says something absolutely ridiculous, and then the other says the total opposite just to be contrary. They get into a roaring argument and don't speak for days," Marlowe complained. "In between, here _I_ am, stuck having to hear this shit over and over again. When I finally break down and give them my opinion, they're suddenly best friends again and I look like a shithead for getting involved."

"You kinda are a shithead, Marley. You should know better by now, don'tcha think? 'Sides, that shit was kinda funny to read about," Happy looked up with a grin that stretched across his face as he picked up a large black garbage bag and headed for the door. Happy genuinely smiling wasn't something Marlowe was accustomed to seeing a lot of, so when he did, it really gave her a kick.

_He looks younger, almost human, when he smiles._

"So glad I could provide you with a way to pass the time while in lock-up other than jerking off," she shouted at his retreating back.

After finishing the storage room, they had gone their separate ways in order to clean up before sitting down for Happy's official welcome home dinner of all his favorites cooked up by Amelia and Celia. It was during dinner that Happy had announced that he was expecting a couple of his Club brothers to drop by the following day. When Amelia heard that the two men were coming, her hospitable nature had kicked in and she wanted to know where they would be staying.

"In the truck," Happy quickly responded before draining a bottle of Cerveza Cristal.

"Kique, you can't have guests come and have them sleep in a truck," his mother admonished.

"They're not guests, Ma," he replied gruffly. "They're my brothers."

"Pues, hijo, that makes them _family_ ," Amelia said matter-of-factly. "They can stay _here_ , we'll make room."

Marlowe's eyes had widened with amusement. _Tía and a bunch of bikers_? _This is some shit I GOT to see._

"No, Ma," her son contradicted with a dark tone. "That shit ain't happening."

_No way in hell._

Now as she and Happy sat in companionable silence watching Danny Trejo dodge a barrage of bullets, Marlowe glanced over at the loveseat on which she had set out a pile of pillows and freshly-laundered blankets and sheets.

As usual, when Amelia Lowman wanted her way, she got it and there was no sense in fighting her on it. By the end of dinner the night before, Amelia had settled the matter and, with Happy's brothers staying only one night before heading back to Charming, she had come up with a plan.

"Ceci's been nagging me to see some chick movie for a couple of weeks now—"

"I have not!" Celia argued indignantly, but Amelia continued, ignoring her.

"—so we'll make a night of it. Dinner and a movie and I'll just stay the night at her house while you entertain your guests, hijo," Amelia suggested as she poured them cups of coffee to go along with Ceci's Dulce de Leche cake.

"They ain't guests, Ma," Happy argued gruffly, "and they ain't pussies. They've bunked in worse places than the cab of a truck."

"Humor me, okay, Kique?" his mother chastised. "Besides, how will it look to have two men sitting in a truck on my driveway all night? Don't you think that could draw the wrong kind of attention?"

"Tía has a point, Hap," Marlowe chimed in, stabbing the piece of cake on her plate with a fork. Happy let loose with an annoyed grunt.

 _Leave it to these two to gang up on_ _me_ , Happy thought with irritation. _But they have a point_.

It would be conspicuous enough having one of Unser's big ass trucks parked in the driveway all night. The last thing Happy needed was some nosy and suspicious neighbor calling the cops to check out why two strange men were sleeping in it. Begrudgingly changing his mind, Happy conceded to having his brothers stay in the house, but only in the living room. After trying but failing to get Marlowe to go with Amelia and Celia to the movies, she was the only other person in the house waiting with Happy for his brothers to show up.

It was getting late and the final credits were rolling when Marlowe heard the sound of a large vehicle pulling into the driveway. With the sound of televised automatic gunfire still ringing in her ears, Marlowe quickly jumped to her feet. Reaching for her sidearm and realizing she no longer carried one, she headed for the living room window and peered out into the darkness.

"Hey!" Happy called out to her as he used the remote to shut off the television. Marlowe turned to face him, her heart still pounding in her chest like a jackhammer. If something was wrong, Happy didn't notice. "Time for bed, Marley."

It took her a moment as she tried to clear the fog that had suddenly descended on her brain before she understood what Happy was saying. "What the fuck, Hap?" Marlowe replied as she shook her head, still somewhat confused.

"You heard me, little girl. Take your skinny ass off to your room and stay there. I got shit to handle," Happy said gruffly as he stood up from the couch.

"You cannot be serious." She crossed her arms over her chest.

"Testing me right now is not a good idea, Marlowe, so be a good little grunt and do what you're told. You know, like they taught you in the Army," Happy replied, leaving no room for argument as he walked towards the kitchen to make his way to the back door.

"NAVY, you asshole!" Marlowe yelled as she watched the kitchen door swing closed behind him. "Idiot," she muttered.

Left with no alternative, she grabbed the bowl of popcorn and stomped her way back to her room. Kicking the door closed behind her, Marlowe sprawled out on the bed with a huff as she shoved her hand into the bowl and munched loudly on its buttery and salty contents.

 _Who the fuck does he think he is_ , she thought bitterly as she looked up at the ceiling.

Unlike Happy, Marlowe didn't have a problem with authority. She had learned early on in her career to follow the orders of her superiors. Not doing so could cost someone their life, including herself. It seemed, however, that Happy just got off on treating her like a child and exerting whatever authority he believed he still had over her. _That_ she had a problem with. When was he going to realize that after three tours of duty in the Middle East, she had gone up against badder asses than himself? Aside from the shit she saw when she closed her eyes sometimes, there was very little that Marlowe feared. And that included Happy Lowman.

Cocking an ear to the side, Marlowe strained to hear the low murmur of voices over the sound of heavy footfalls as more than one man made their way past her bedroom towards the back of the house. Quietly getting up from the bed, she made her way over to the door. With the lights out in her room, Marlowe slowly cracked the door open a sliver and watched as two men—each wearing a kutte similar to her brother's—made their way down the short hallway with a long narrow crate. With the hallway dimly lit Marlowe couldn't make out any distinguishing features except that one of them was tall with blond hair and the other, shorter with dark hair shot with silver.

Quietly closing the door once again, Marlowe returned to her bed. Even without her military training, it wouldn't take a genius to venture a guess as to what was in those crates. Although Happy had never confirmed, he hadn't denied her suspicions either and despite knowing that the contents of the crates being brought into the house could send everyone under this roof tonight to prison, Marlowe couldn't help being intrigued by it all.

After all, it wasn't like she would be getting much sleep anyway. Insomnia had been something Marlowe had struggled with on and off for the past five years. It had worsened, however, since she had returned stateside, with what little sleep she managed to get plagued by horrific nightmares. Biting her thumbnail, Marlowe's eyes drifted closed. Although far from sleepy in spite of the late hour, if she meditated and allowed herself to relax, maybe sleep would come without her needing to pop several pills. Trying to concentrate on her breathing, her wide gray eyes suddenly flew open as she bolted upright on the bed.

"What the fuck's going on?" she muttered to herself as she rubbed her temples with the tips of her fingers. "I haven't thought about that shit in months. Why the fuck start now?" she chastised herself, the image of her commanding officer's body ripped to shreds by a grenade burned into her mind's eye.

Taking a deep breath, Marlowe let herself fall back onto the soft bed. _It's bad enough this shit's waiting for me in my dreams. No need to relieve it while I'm awake too._

Pulling herself out of bed, Marlowe started pacing back and forth like a caged tiger. She didn't want to be alone right now, but the last thing she wanted to do was push Happy's buttons. She could always leave and head to a bar, but before she could convince herself that trolling for a one-night stand was a good idea, Marlowe stripped down to a pair of skimpy briefs and threw on an oversized t-shirt. Pulling back the covers, she tucked herself in and grabbed a paperback novel from the pile sitting on the nightstand.

Flipping open to the where she had left off the night before, Marlowe resigned herself to another sleepless, lonely night. Pausing, she briefly thought about the two patches that were at this moment unpacking their MC's illegal merchandise and wondered if she would ever get to meet any of Happy's brothers.

* * *

_**Bakersfield, CA – Tuesday, April 20, 2010** _

It was the strong aroma of rich, delicious coffee that woke Kozik from a deep sleep. Stretching out his long frame on the surprisingly comfortable sofa, he cracked open one blue eye as he sought out the location of the Club's newest patch. Kozik nearly snorted with laughter as he spotted Miles, who was folded into a fetal position, barely hanging on to the small loveseat that had been his lot to sleep on.

 _Idiot would have been better off sleeping on the floor_ , Kozik thought as he sat up and rubbed a hand through his choppily cut hair.

It had taken several days to make the run to the border of Canada to meet the crew who had brought the Cartel's first order safely across the Pacific. The transfer had gone smoothly and he and Miles had taken a roundabout route to bring the guns into California. They had been forced to sleep in the truck at out of the way rest stops in order to keep the contents safe and last night was the first time in several days that Kozik had been able to get horizontal.

Standing up, Kozik stretched his arms over his head and groaned.

_I'm getting too old for this shit._

At 49, the ex-marine turned biker sauntered over to the large mirror that was in the small foyer and gave himself the once over.

 _Fuck it, I_ _still_ _look good_ , he boasted inwardly.

Running a hand over three days of growth on his chin, Kozik examined himself closely. Spotting only a few stray silver hairs here and there, he also noted that his face was still handsome and virtually unlined. He was tall and lean, his muscular body encased in a skintight wife-beater shirt and long legs wrapped in blue jeans. Working out regularly at his age was paying off, as he looked more like a sun-kissed California beach boy rather than a hardcore biker. Kozik often used his laid-back and charming personality to his advantage, letting outsiders—and sometimes his own brothers—assume he wasn't as tough as the kutte he wore. Little did they know what a mistake it was judging this book by its over. After all, he hadn't become the Sergeant-at-Arms of the Tacoma charter because he was a squeaky clean boy scout. He had definitely earned his shit.

Turning as the deep scent of coffee wafted towards him, Kozik figured that Happy must have fallen out of bed and had put on a pot of coffee. Feeling the need for a hit or two, the handsome biker made his way to the kitchen and pushed through the swinging door. He stopped dead in his tracks as, instead of his gruff, bald-headed brother, he spotted a beautiful woman standing in the kitchen.

Running his tongue over his teeth, Kozik was hard pressed not to whistle loudly as he enjoyed the view of a well-endowed backside attached to the tall and slender woman standing in front of a huge pot of coffee.

 _Nice,_ Kozik thought with a grin as his eyes travelled up from her ass covered in low-slung cargo pants paired with worn combat boots, to an expanse of wavy, dark blonde hair that trailed over a red tank top and down her delicately curved back. _Definitely not_ _a girl trying to make a fashion statement_ , he thought as he got a teasing glance of a half-sleeve tattoo. Hoping that the front was as good as the back, a question nagged his brain, barely making it past the sudden surge of testosterone flooding his veins. _W_ _hat the fuck is she doing in Hap's mother's kitchen_?

"Are you gonna stand there and stare at my ass all day, biker boy?" the beauty said without turning as she sipped at the large mug in her hands.

Kozik jerked at the question and then blinked as he realized that he had been busted. _Well shit, don't I come off like a fuckin' perv._

But always the consummate ladies man, Kozik quickly moved to thwart what was probably every woman's built-in radar that kicked in whenever she detected a man eye-fucking her.

"Sorry, sweetheart," he said with a gosh-darn smile in his voice. "I didn't mean to be rude."

"Oh, you moved out of the rude zone and into stalker territory about ten seconds ago," she replied as she turned around and Kozik felt like he had been hit by a truck as he met a stunning pair of wide gray eyes in a beautiful face.

Fighting the sudden and real urge to ask if they had ever met before—the oldest line in the book—Kozik managed to crack a smile. "Well, can you blame me? It's not every day I wake up to find a gorgeous woman in the kitchen."

He watched as the woman leaned against the counter and crossed her arms underneath her chest. "Um, nice try, but somehow I get the feeling that's not the first time you've used that bullshit line," she paused as she eyed him up and down appreciatively. _Not bad. Not bad at all_. "So, you got a name, beach boy?"

Kozik chuckled before running a hand over his head. "Kozik."

"That's an interesting first name," Marlowe smiled flirtatiously. _Yeah, it's definitely been a while since I've been around a man that wasn't Happy_.

"It's not," he replied. "I don't use my first name."

"Don't care for it?"

"Not particularly."

She shrugged. "I accept that."

Kozik quirked an eyebrow. "You don't happen to know Chucky, by chance?"

"Chucky who?"

"Never mind. If you knew him, you wouldn't have to ask," he said waving a hand. "So, do _I_ get a name, pretty girl?"

"It's Marlowe," she smiled.

"Marlowe what?"

"Just Marlowe," she said before turning her back on him again. "You want some coffee, Kozik?"

"Absolutely. I'd kill for some right about now," he replied and watched as she poured rich black coffee into a large mug and handed it to him. As he grabbed the proffered coffee, he finally got a good look at the detailed half-sleeve tattoo on her upper left arm. "Bettie Page. Nice. Whoever did it is a real pro."

"Yeah, he can be when he's not being an asshole," she replied cryptically. Walking over to the table, Marlowe pulled out a chair and sat down, crossing her legs. "You can join me, if you want."

Following her lead, Kozik pulled out a chair across from her and sipped his coffee. "Good shit."

"Thanks. It's not the espresso I usually make, but it'll do in a pinch," she replied. "So, I'm guessing you're also a member of Hap's club."

"That's right," Kozik replied non-committal.

"And an ex-Marine," Marlowe sipped her coffee as she watched Kozik's eyes widen. "I noticed the ink," she said, gesturing at his upper bicep emblazoned with a Marine insignia tattoo.

"There's no such thing as an ex-Marine, sweetheart," Kozik grinned as he flexed his bicep flirtatiously.

Marlowe nodded in agreement. "That's right. Once a Marine, always a Marine. It's a shame, really," she teased. "You're too damn pretty for a jarhead."

"Oh little girl, them are fightin' words," he warned with no malice.

"They sure are and this FMF Corpsman can and has eaten jarheads like you for breakfast," Marlowe said with a wicked smile. Holding out her right forearm, she showed off a tattoo of a Caduceus, a short rod entwined by two snakes and topped by a pair of wings, with the words "My Brother's Keeper" right above it in classic calligraphy.

"Are you shitting me?" Kozik exclaimed, his blue eyes bright.

"Nope. Joined when I was eighteen and recently discharged. You?"

"Yeah, I joined straight out of high school myself," Kozik replied quietly. "I signed on for six, but was out by the time I was twenty-two." Marlowe furrowed her brow, not sure how to continue the conversation. Kozik grinned wryly as he sat back in his chair. "It's okay, doll, you can ask."

"What happened?" Marlowe asked quietly. "I mean, aside from the beach boy good looks, you seem like a tough son of a bitch."

"You bet I am and don't you forget that, squid," Kozik teased. He fell silent for a moment, seemingly mesmerized by the contents of his coffee mug. "It's not that I couldn't hack it," he continued. "Uncle Sam and I just had a difference of opinion when it came to my sobriety is all."

 _Fuck, I can relate_ , Marlowe thought to herself. After her first tour in Afghanistan, she had self-medicated with alcohol.

"I was a troublemaker as a kid, never backing down from a fight," Kozik started explaining. "But it was clean trouble-making, you know? The worst I did was smoke cigarettes I'd lift from my mom's purse and, on occasion, I'd pinch a couple of beers from the 7-11. It took me joining the Marine Corps and traveling the world to get into some really freaky-deaky shit. My CO tried helping me out, tried to get me clean, but I was young and stupid. Thought I had all the answers, dumb little shit that I was."

"What was your poison?"

"Heroin."

"Ouch," Marlowe replied as she finished her coffee and got up to grab the pot. Returning to the table she refilled both their cups. "You were getting high on Uncle Sam's time?" She shrugged a shoulder as she sat down. "So pretty, but not too bright, huh?"

Kozik chuckled. "You got a smart mouth on you, you know that?"

"I've been told once or twice," Marlowe said with a smile before taking another sip of coffee. "So I'm gonna take a giant leap and guess you were discharged."

Kozik nodded. "My CO was a great guy, though. With all the piss tests I failed, I could have easily been dishonorably discharged, but he recommended a medical instead. He saw a lot of his brothers come back from Vietnam strung out and believed addiction was a disease. Without him backing me up like that, I never would have cleaned up."

For the first time in years, Kozik found himself sharing the details of a very dark period in his life with someone not wearing an SOA kutte. Putting aside the fact that she was hot as fuck, Marlowe had not only answered the call of duty, but had served her country on the battlefield of war. It didn't matter that they had served different branches of the military. Male or female, it was all one big brotherhood and it was obvious that the grunt sitting in front of him had a gold-plated set of balls.

"Thanks to my CO, I was able to get my shit together. Unfortunately, my old lady at the time was heavy into partying and shit. I loved her, but she didn't want my help," he stopped as he looked into Marlowe's gray eyes, his own widening slightly as he noted the flecks of gold within them.

"Sometimes our loved ones won't be helped, no matter what we do or how much we love them," Marlowe stated, thinking of her own mother.

"Don't I know it," he paused for a long moment. "I had to let her go. I had already given up my life as a Marine and by then I had met up with the Sons. I was lucky to find that brotherhood again and I couldn't afford to let old, bad habits take that away from me too," Kozik shrugged. "I left San Diego for NorCal and the rest, as they say, is history. So, what's your story? Why not finish your twenty and get your pension? Why give up being a Corpsman for a career as a caregiver? You can't be making much money."

Marlowe slowly put down her cup. "A _what_?" she asked cautiously.

"A caregiver. Happy said that you've been staying with his Mom since he went inside, taking care of her and stuff. The way he put it—" Kozik trailed off as he noted the hard glint in Marlowe's eyes.

"Oh, no, I totally get it," Marlowe replied sarcastically. "I know _exactly_ what Happy thinks I am."

 _What an_ _asshole_ , she thought irritably.

 _Shit, looks like I might have offended her_ , Kozik thought as he considered the situation. Either she was more to Happy than he was letting on or she _thought_ she was. As long as Kozik had known Happy, however, the outlaw biker had never had an old lady, but he had also never mentioned Marlowe as being the one caring for his mother. _Either way, can't say I blame my brother for keeping quiet about this hot piece of ass_.

Just then, the kitchen door swung open to reveal a sleepy Miles sporting serious bed head. "Uh, hi," his face brightened as he spotted Marlowe. "The smell of some really awesome coffee woke me up."

"I guess I should get you a cup then," Marlowe stated. Retrieving another mug from the overhead cabinet above the coffee machine, she poured him a cup and handed it to him. "Marlowe," she offered a hand.

"Miles," he responded and shook her hand firmly before taking a sip of coffee. "Truly excellent shit," he nodded approvingly.

"Thanks," Marlowe replied absently, her mind on the biker whose ass she was gonna kick.

 _And think of the fuckin' devil_ , she thought when the door swung open, _and he magically appears_.

"What the fuck is going on in here?" Happy practically bellowed.

"Ain't nothing going on, Hap," Kozik said pleasantly, trying to ignore the look of ire on Happy's face. He didn't want to be responsible for his brother getting all pissy with Marlowe, especially if Hap thought that he was pushing up on what was probably his woman. "Except some coffee and polite conversation."

"And maybe some food, I hope," Miles said earnestly. "I'm starving."

"Well, I can make—" Marlowe started.

"You can go to your fuckin' room," Happy interrupted tersely.

Kozik almost took a step out of his chair to get in between his brother and the suddenly-pissed young woman shooting daggers at him with her eyes.

"Oh sure, you wouldn't want your mother's _caregiver_ getting in the fuckin' way."

 _Oh shit_ , Kozik rubbed his forehead as he watched Happy fold his arms over his chest.

"Yeah, that's right," Happy agreed, failing to pick up on Marlowe's thinly veiled sarcasm. Jabbing a thumb over his shoulder at Miles, he continued, "If shithead here wants something to eat, he can make it himself and he better hurry. The Pres called, so we need to pack up those other crates and head back to Charming pronto!" Seeing Marlowe digging in her heels, Happy scowled. "Is there a reason your ass is still in here? GO!"

Fuming to the point where she wanted to pull a knife from the butcher block and stab him with it, Marlowe knew better than to cut up in front of Happy's brothers. That was definitely some shit she knew he would not tolerate. Stalking off angrily, Marlowe practically stormed out of the room through the swinging door, getting a small measure of satisfaction as she slammed her bedroom door.

"Whew," Miles replied as he looked at Happy. "She's pissed. You might wanna tone it down a bit. Employees nowadays will sue for any little shit."

"Maybe you should tone it down unless you want me pissed at you," Happy started unpleasantly. "Patch or no patch, it won't be pretty."

"Um, yes sir," Miles replied hesitantly. The former-Prospect was still too much of a newbie to even consider taking on the outspoken older outlaw. Instead he walked over to the refrigerator and opened it, inspecting its contents before turning back to his brothers. "Anybody up for pancakes?"


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sons of Anarchy. I do, however, own Marlowe and any other OCs that appear in the 2 Sons Universe.**

* * *

_**Bakersfield, CA – Tuesday, April 20, 2010** _

Growing up a tomboy and around Happy, it was inevitable that Marlowe would pick up some bad habits. Or at least that was Ceci's explanation every time the young girl got into trouble. As far as Marlowe was concerned, however, the sun shone out of Happy's ass and he could do no wrong, so of course she wanted to emulate her idol in every way possible. One of Happy's first lessons had been that she had to let it be known that she wasn't gonna take shit from anyone, period. And, in order to back up such a bold statement, he had taught her how to fight.

Considering that Happy had first-hand knowledge of how shitty her home life had been before moving in with Amelia, it was safe to say that he had meant well. The way Happy saw it, he was just passing along a vital skill set—the ability to defend and protect oneself—and Marlowe had been an apt pupil. His secret little protégé.

To everyone else, she had been an adolescent menace to society.

Once she joined the Navy, learning to live without the giant chip on her shoulder had been one of the first and hardest things Marlowe had to do. While her Recruit Division Commander had been impressed with her physical conditioning and her knowledge of hand-to-hand combat, he had been less appreciative of her defensive nature and all-around bad attitude. Her RDC had put her through her paces, breaking down the old Marlowe and rebuilding her into a team player, a lifesaver, and a sailor.

Ten years later, it had taken Happy Lowman less than 72 hours to find her weak spot and piss all over it, shattering the high level of self-control and discipline she had achieved during her tenure in the U.S. Navy. Just that morning Marlowe had stormed out of the house, sick to death of being treated so callously by Happy, especially in front of his Club brothers. It was either stomp away like a petulant child or bash his head in with Amelia's cast iron skillet.

She had been mortified by the way he had dismissed her, embarrassing her in front of someone who believed, thanks to Happy, that Marlowe was nothing more than an employee of his family. She had marched straight to her room all right, in order to retrieve the broken-in soft leather backpack she had brought in a local market during her first tour of duty in Afghanistan and her beat up denim jacket. She then headed for the front door, jumped into her piece of shit car and sped off. It wasn't exactly an Oscar-worthy exit as her Ford Escort had backfired, leaving a thick plume of black exhaust behind as she pulled off, but she didn't give a shit. It had given her a satisfying outlet for blowing off steam that didn't involve running over Happy's bike, thus signing her own death warrant.

Pulling into the driveway hours later, Marlowe immediately noticed that the truck as well as Happy's bike were gone. Realizing that he had ducked out on her before they had the chance to discuss plans for Amelia regarding her much-needed knee surgery, Marlowe felt her ire rising once again.

Seeing that Amelia's car was parked in the driveway instead, Marlowe exited her car, slamming the door behind her, hoping that Amelia was at least in a better mood than she was after spending the night with her sister. Marlowe quickly sensed that all bets were off, however, as soon as she walked through the front door. From the foyer, she spotted her surrogate mother sitting in her favorite armchair, her cane resting by her side as she glared daggers at Marlowe.

If she thought she had been pissed off before, staring into Tía's angry eyes—eyes that also betrayed her fear—Marlowe regretted with all her might not taking the cast iron skillet to Happy Lowman's head.

"Oh, shit," Marlowe sighed dramatically as she dropped her backpack on the sofa before plopping down next to it. "What the fuck did I do now?"

"Ah, feeling guilty about something, Marley? So you knew about this shit?" Amelia demanded, her arms crossed over her heaving chest. "Madre de Dios! Why am I even asking—of course you knew about this. _You_ must have been the one who told him after all!"

_Aw crap! Thanks for the warning, Hap. You shithead!_

Marlowe decided that her best bet was to play dumb for now. "Told who what?"

"You told Kique about that charlatan doctor's claim that I _need_ my knee replaced."

Marlowe ran her hand through her loose caramel-colored waves and sighed with exasperation. "Of course I told him. He's your son," she reasoned, seeing no sense in denying the truth. "But I'm sure that's not the only reason you're giving me the stink eye, so go ahead. Let me have it."

Amelia shook her head in disbelief. "I should have known you two were up to something these past couple of days, being all nicey-nicey with each other. I'm starting to think it's better when you're at each other's throats instead."

 _Then you should have been here a few hours ago, Tía_.

"I still don't know what you're talking about," Marlowe said and she meant it. She was now completely lost after having copped to ratting her out to Happy about her knee.

"Fine, I'll indulge your mistaken belief that I just got off the banana boat _this_ time, Marley," Amelia harrumphed as she rolled her eyes. "I got home about an hour ago expecting to find a full house, but Kique's friends were long gone. I didn't even get the chance to ask where you had taken off to before he sat me down to advise me that he had taken the liberty of making arrangements for my knee surgery _and_ that I was going to do what I was told! He said that as my healthcare proxy what he says goes and that includes the decision of putting me in an old age home if I refuse. He said it was either that or he was going to tie my ass on to the back of his bike and ride me all the way to Charming!"

Marlowe blinked once. Then twice. "Charming?" she asked stupidly. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm scheduled for surgery in some hospital in that backwater town he lives in, that's what I'm talking about," her aunt said dismally.

"What?!" Marlowe asked weakly.

"You heard me, hija," Amelia sniffed. " _He said_ that Bakersfield was too far away for him to drive down every week to see me. _He said_ that he needed to know that I was doing what I was told and that Charming is just too far away for him to keep an eye on me. _He said_ that if I was gonna act like a four-year old then he was going treat me like one. _He said_ I'd already had a chance to do right by listening to the doctor and having the surgery at Bakersfield Memorial _before_ he got out and that now it was too late."

"Wow," Marlowe murmured with a hint of admiration in her voice. _I knew he would get Tía on board, but damn!_

"Apparently his Club has an in with a doctor there and Kique got a recommendation for an orthopedic surgeon. He had Dr. McCall send all my files, blood work, everything to this new doctor. The hospital administrator has already started on the insurance paperwork and she even recommended a nearby rehab facility," Amelia recalled irritably. "In less than two weeks, Kique's carting my ass off to Charming for the surgery followed by three months of rehab somewhere in Modesto." Her wide brown eyes were snapping with anger.

"Why Modesto?"

"Because there isn't one in Charming and he intends on keeping tabs on me until I'm fully recovered," Amelia sneered. "Once my rehab is done and I'm walking again, _then_ and only then he says he'll _let_ me come back home." She let out an exasperated breath. "You almost have me convinced, Marley, but you can stop feigning shock now. I know you were in on this."

Marlowe's head snapped back at the accusation. "Tía, as much as I wouldn't mind taking credit for this diabolical plot to get you better, my involvement ended when I told him you needed the surgery," she raised her left hand, her right over her heart. "I swear."

Amelia examined her daughter through narrow slits. "Maybe, but you're loving this all the same."

Marlowe tried and failed to keep her face expressionless, the trembling of her lips betraying the desire to laugh out loud. After coughing loudly several times, she managed to clear her throat. "No, Tía, that's not true," she said sympathetically. "But I'm not gonna lie and say that I'm not glad Hap's making you go through with it. You know what Dr. McCall said as well as I do. It will only get worse and more painful for you. You might even end up in a wheelchair, so go ahead and rail away at me all you like. Just know that once you're done, we are going to start making lists of everything we need to do to close up the house and pack our shit."

" _Our shit?_ " Amelia said with a glimmer of hope. "You mean you'll go with me to Charming?"

Marlowe barely managed to stop rolling her eyes. "Of course I'm going with you! After everything you've been through without me, did you really think I was going to let you go through this alone too?" she asked quietly.

"I don't know what I thought, Marley," Amelia replied with a sigh as her clenched hands finally relaxed in her lap. "All I know is that I didn't want to go through another surgery. I managed to beat cancer, but I keep waiting for the day I start feeling like my old self again and that day never comes."

With a furrowed brow, Marlowe got up from the couch and walked over to crouch down on her haunches in front of the older woman. "I know that after the mastectomy and the chemo, the last thing you want to hear is that more surgery will make you feel better, but it will, Tía. The reason you don't feel like your old self now is because of your knee. You haven't been able to get down in the dirt to garden in ages and you can barely make it down the front stairs without help, much less putter around the house cleaning and redecorating like I know you're dying to."

"Marley, my knee is not as bad as you think," Amelia tried to reason. "My salve works wonders and I do have my good days, you know."

Marlowe let out a soft, yet exasperated sigh. As small girls growing up in Cuba, Amelia and Celia had spent many summers with their maternal grandmother on her farm. Their Abuelita had an undying faith in God and was a firm believer that He helped those that helped themselves. That being the case, Abuelita didn't care much for doctors, considering them godless charlatans. Instead, she practiced what is known now as holistic medicine, coupling her skills as an herbalist with fervent prayer. Amelia had learned much from her grandmother, unlike Ceci, who along with their father, believed it was all just backwater hocus-pocus.

Shortly before Abuelita passed away, she had given Amelia an old notebook bound in brown leather containing over a hundred handwritten recipes for healing salves and remedies made from herbs and other Cuban kitchen staples, along with a long list of ailments they treated as well as prayers to go along with them. When her family immigrated to the United States, the notebook had been one of the first things Amelia had carefully packed. To this day, it was probably her most treasured possession, along with her late husband's wedding ring.

Marlowe had to admit that while growing up under Amelia's watchful care she had witnessed and experienced for herself the curative qualities of herbal remedies. Tía had created many concoctions over the years that had cured Marlowe's upset stomachs, migraine headaches, rashes, and even sprains. This was one time, however, that relying solely on salves and potions could result in long-lasting and crippling effects.

Marlowe looked down at Amelia's swollen knee, clearly visible through the material of her dress slacks. "Is today one of them, Tía? Is today a good day?" She looked up again and into Amelia's eyes.

"No," Amelia relented with a sigh and a slight shake of her head. "Not today, querida. The salve _does_ help, though, especially with the swelling, but today, it's not doing much for the swelling or the pain," she allowed herself to admit.

"And knowing your stubborn Cuban ass, you're willing to continue living with the pain, but if you won't do it for yourself, at least do it for Hap. Because, let's face it, Tía, a big and bad biker he may be, but when you strip all that shit away, Happy ain't nothing but a Mama's boy." Marlowe grinned as Amelia chuckled. "Hey, it's true. Happy may be a macho pain in the ass, but he loves you dearly. You should have seen the relief on his face when I told him you were finally in remission. I honestly believe that anything other than good news would have destroyed him."

Amelia blinked away sudden tears. "Really?"

"After all he's done and is doing to get you healthy, is there really any doubt?" Marlowe laughed softly. "He lucked out with you for a mom and he knows it. He— _we_ —want you around for a long, long time and not just because of your killer Arroz con Pollo."

Amelia's shoulders started to shake with laughter as she dashed away the tears running down her cheeks. "What about Ceci? How do you think she's going to react when she hears we'll be gone at least four months?" She asked worriedly.

"Are you kidding? Ceci will be so happy, you two will be doing cartwheels together down the street when you return. 'Sides, she won't have to worry about you climbing up on stools and shit anymore." Marlowe reached up to tuck a strand of Amelia's dark hair behind her ear. "So, are you in?"

Amelia nodded and smiled broadly. "I'm in!"

* * *

_**Charming, CA – Thursday, April 29, 2010** _

"Well," Marlowe smiled cheerfully. "This is a nice room."

Amelia shrugged her shoulders. "It's all right," she muttered petulantly, her eyes roaming around the room as she folded and unfolded her hands nervously on the hospital bed sheet that was covering her lap.

"It's more than 'all right', you uptight woman," Marlowe admonished. "Happy upgraded you to a private room— _out of his own pocket_! And you know what a cheap bastard he is," she said as the door opened.

"I'm not cheap," Happy said gruffly as he stepped inside. "I'm just mindful of wasteful spending." Bypassing Marlowe, he walked to the other side of the bed and dropped a kiss on his mother's forehead. "You a'ight, Ma?"

"I'm as well as can be expected for someone who was carted off from her home like a sack of potatoes," she replied as she reached a hand up to caress his cheek, giving it a light slap first. "The least you could have done was make Marley drive up here in my car instead of that death trap of hers."

"Where the fuck you been? You know no one can make that skinny bitch _do_ anything," Happy complained.

"Uh," Marlowe raised her hand, "I'm still in the room, people."

"Yeah, well, take the blame for this shit then," Happy admonished. "You're the one who didn't want to drive a foreign car."

Marlowe rolled her eyes. Ignoring Happy, she addressed Amelia. "Your son gave my car a tune up before we left and we made it in one piece, right?"

"Barely," Amelia reluctantly acknowledged. "I truly believed that instead of dying on the operating table, I was going to die on the road this morning."

"Oh my gawd, really?" Marlowe grumbled from her spot at the foot of the bed. "That wasn't going to happen, Tía. I have learned a thing or two about driving since I got my driver's license, you know."

"I'll be damned if I could tell," Happy chimed in snarkily. "I thought I was gonna have to bury the two of you today."

Marlowe bit back the scathing retort burning on her tongue, allowing the jerk a pass for managing to score a decent room for his mother. After all, the only thing that mattered was that they were here. Considering the monumental task that preparing to temporarily relocate had been, it was a small miracle that they had made it to Charming on schedule at all.

It had taken most of the previous week to get Amelia's affairs and her house in order. From suspending utilities, to cleaning out the refrigerator, arranging for the care of Amelia's garden and relocating all of her valuables to Ceci's house, Marlowe had done it all. Packing for Amelia had been a feat in and of itself as the older woman had wanted to bring practically everything and the kitchen sink with her. It had taken Ceci's browbeating to get Amelia on board with only taking the bare essentials to the hospital and the rehab facility. Marlowe, on the other hand, in spite of being back in Bakersfield for over a year, had managed to pack all of her belongings into her one bag. Old habits were hard to break and Marlowe was accustomed to traveling light.

On the night before their road trip to Charming and after feigning compliance with Happy's edict for almost two weeks, Amelia had broken down, admitting that the thought of leaving her sister behind was proving difficult. Ceci, who still had eight weeks left before school would be out for the summer, had eased her sister's mind by promising that she already had her plan set for joining Amelia in Modesto. She had secured a long-term rental in a nearby hotel so she could serve as her sister's companion, giving Marlowe what was sure to be a well-deserved break during the remaining weeks of rehabilitation.

"Stop being an ass and tell us how you managed to score such a nice room for Tía," Marlowe eyed her brother her arms crossed over her chest.

Happy shrugged his shoulders. "Club connections," was all he was willing to give up.

"Well, I guess it's nice to know that Club of yours has some juice," Amelia replied. "I appreciate all you've done, Kique, but I still think I'd rather be back in Bakersfield."

"Too late for that shit, don'tcha think, Ma?" Happy groused. "Don't let the size fool you. It may be a small hospital, but it's a good one."

Generally speaking, Happy would have preferred to keep his family and his Club separate, but with Club business keeping him busy and unable to make frequent trips to Bakersfield, he had made an exception. Jax Teller had insisted on helping him out once Happy had opened up to him about his mother's situation.

"You're watching my back, brother," Jax had said as they sat in the Chapel. "I'll do anything I can to watch yours and I know having peace of mind concerning your Moms is a part of that. Believe me, I know you don't want a pissed off mother jerking on your chain," Jax had said with a grin. "Let me talk to Tara, see what she can do."

Happy was grateful for the offer and the doctor's assistance, even though he still found it hard to believe that Tara Knowles had returned to Charming and as a surgeon no less. Before transferring to the Tacoma Charter, Happy—like the rest of SAMCRO—had had his fill of the Jax and Tara angst-filled teenage saga, with most of the drama courtesy of Gemma Teller-Morrow. For the most part, the young lovers had been a wild pair, riding around Charming on Jax's bike and getting into all kinds of shit. Soon after getting patched in—and against the advice of his brothers—Jax had approached Happy about inking Tara with his crow.

Although he believed that the young woman was unlikely old lady material in spite of all the hanging around she did on the lot, Happy had no problem doing it. It wasn't his call to make, after all, even if he felt she was a little on the soft side. For the next month, however, Happy had to endure Gemma's hairy eyeball after she discovered he was the one responsible for putting the crow tat on Tara. It seemed that when it came to her son's girlfriend, Gemma shared Happy's opinion. Unlike Happy, though, Gemma was not shy about vocalizing it.

In the long run, it became clear that Gemma had nothing to worry about. The crow tat and what it signified to Jax had become meaningless as soon as Tara bailed for parts unknown. Only nineteen at the time, Jax had immersed himself in booze, weed and pussy for quite some time. It had taken Clay's mentoring and strong hand to pull Jax's head out of his own ass and back onto his shoulders, reminding him that even though the Club was his legacy, he had to earn his spot at the head of the table. As far as Happy was concerned, Jax was lucky he had his stepfather looking out for him like he had. To his way of thinking, no pussy should _ever_ bring a man down like that.

But the prodigal old lady had returned. Even though Happy had no opinion about Jax taking up with her again one way or another, Tara Knowles had come back to Charming with skills that had greatly benefited the Club. As Happy worked on a plan to get his mother the surgery she needed, he decided to open up to his new President in hopes that Jax would tap his old lady for a favor. Since the day of their release from Stockton, no one had seen Dr. Knowles on the lot, so Happy was surprised to hear that she had come through, recommending Dr. Gerald Baines to do his mother's knee replacement surgery at St. Thomas. She had set up all the particulars and had even used her connection with the hospital administrator to get his mother a private room.

He felt even further indebted to his President who had come through in granting him another favor which would save Happy some coin. He just had to make sure that everyone was on board with it and that nobody got bent out of shape due to the exception Jax had made on his behalf.

"The doc, he seemed a'ight," Happy turned to his sister. "What did you think about him?"

Marlowe shrugged her shoulders. "He certainly checks out," she replied, referring to her thorough check of Dr. Baines' credentials, finding no complaints or malpractice suits pending against him. "He's pleasant, friendly and easy on the eyes. I like him _aaaand_ I'm sure I'm not the only one who does," she teased.

"Aye, hush, hija, and stop trying to stir up shit," Amelia said airily, although her pink cheeks spoke volumes. "He was just being flirty to get my spirits up," she added. "And my spirits needed lifting so stop rolling your eyes at me, Kique," she admonished her son.

Just then, the door opened to reveal a young nurse. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but visiting hours will be over soon and we need to get our patient settled in. She has a big day tomorrow."

"Shit," Amelia mumbled as the young woman left. "I hate this part."

"Don't worry, Tía," Marlowe said as she hugged the older woman. "Hap and I will be here before your surgery, first thing in the morning and when it's all over, we'll be the first faces you see."

"You promise?"

"You know it," Happy replied as he bent over to kiss his mother. "I'll always have your back, Ma."

* * *

Looking at her watch again, Marlowe was a bat of an eyelash away from tapping her booted foot on the black top. It was almost dusk and she was growing impatient. After the long drive from Bakersfield and keeping Amelia company all day after checking into the hospital, she was tired of waiting while Happy fiddled with the Escort's engine in the dwindling light of day in St. Thomas' parking lot.

"Shit a brick, Hap," Marlowe groused as she propped her hip against the side of the car. "Can you fix it? I mean, you _are_ a mechanic, aren't ya?"

"Will you shut your yap and quit riding on my ass?" Happy's muffled voice rose as from underneath the hood. "Where did you get this piece of shit anyway?"

"Some used car dealership in Miramar."

"Well, I'd like to meet the man who sold it to ya and shake his hand for taking your know-it-all ass for a ride," Happy grunted as he finally came up for air, wiping his oily hands on a dark blue bandana.

"Gee, thanks, _big brother_ ," Marlowe retorted as she crossed her arms. "I guess we got lucky it decided to die here and not on the road. So, can you fix it?"

"Not here and not tonight. This heap of rusty junk needs several parts and some major work." Reaching into the pocket of his kutte, Happy withdrew his prepay.

"Who you calling?"

"None of your business. Just get your ass over to my bike and put on my helmet," Happy ordered after punching in a number and bringing the phone up to his ear. "It's time to get you home."

* * *

"You a'ight, bro?" Opie asked, the embers of his cigarette glowing in the near-dark.

"Not sure," Jax admitted as he pulled on the chains to lower the bay's rolling doors, thus bringing an end to another day of earning straight by fixing cages and bikes at T-M. The hard manual labor had been good for the new President of the Sons of Anarchy. It certainly kept his mind off of some shit.

The last ten days had seen much in the way of action for the Club. Having to make a special trip to Bakersfield in order to fix a snag with the guns—the theft of a crate of KG-9's by a group of ghetto babies while on Kozik's watch—had been a real pisser. After an interesting meet with the local fence, the guns had been retrieved and safely transported to the Club's new gun warehouse. Clay had finally managed to secure from Elliott Oswald an old storage site once used by Oswald Construction to house old clunkers and equipment on a gated piece of property only ten minutes from the Wahewa reservation. Despite the hiccup in Bakersfield, the Club was now well on its way to making the first delivery for the Galindo Cartel. Tig, Chibs, Juice and the Prospects were hard at work at the new warehouse building the crates to be labeled as containing "Automotive Parts", but in reality would be holding the Cartel's first shipment.

As was usually the case with him, Jax realized that when his life with the Club was working the way it should, it was his personal life that ended up taking some hits. On the home front, the last ten days had been something more akin to a cold war than a loving domestic partnership between him and his old lady. Avoiding frostbite, the only time Jax seemed to be home at all lately was to spend time with his son, crashing most nights at the Clubhouse.

Reluctantly taking his ultimatum to heart, Tara had decided to follow Jax's lead and let him decide when they would make their exit from Charming. As a result, shit was definitely off between them and Jax knew he was taking refuge in his dorm to avoid Tara's passive-aggressiveness. Their conversations were on the surface only, stilted and strained. Tara refused to discuss anything relating to the Club or its current situation.

With Tara's feelings about the Club and his association with and leadership of it, Jax now realized that it was for the best to keep her on the outside of life in the Clubhouse. As far as he was concerned, as long as she still remained married to the idea of leaving Charming, Tara couldn't be there for him 100%, so full disclosure was no longer on the table. If it had been for anyone but Happy, Jax would have never pressed Tara for her help in finding a qualified and competent surgeon for Amelia Lowman. It was clear that, although Tara had done her best to help with Happy's situation, she had done so with some reluctance on her part.

Now, as he stared at Opie, he wondered why it was that neither of them could seem to get their personal shit together.

Opie slapped a hand on his back. "Things a little twisted, huh?"

"You might say that," Jax replied as he pulled a cigarette from the front pocket of his T-M work shirt. "Either the relationship shit is okay and Club shit is fucked up or—"

"It's the other way around," Opie finished, lighting Jax's cigarette for him. "I know exactly how you feel, brother."

Married less than a month to Lyla, Opie couldn't remember the last time he felt genuine happiness. The ambivalent melancholy he was feeling had him steeped in guilt. Feeling like a rat bastard, Opie wasn't consumed by thoughts of his new bride, but by haunting memories of his late wife Donna and how happy they had been as newlyweds. Lyla tried, but as long as she continued sucking dick and eating pussy on film, Opie couldn't fully invest himself in their marriage. He loved Lyla, he knew he did, but sometimes when he caught himself looking at her when she was unaware of his presence, instead of his chest tightening like it still did when he thought of Donna, Opie couldn't stop the words "dirty whore" from reverberating through his mind.

Hearing the sound of familiar pipes, both brothers looked towards the still-open entrance to the lot and spotted a familiar biker.

"Looks like Hap's back," Opie announced after taking a deep drag from his cigarette. "And he's not alone."

In the darkness, Jax's blond eyebrows rose as he made out the shape of a female form plastered against his SAA's back, paying little attention to the tow truck driven by V-Lin that was hauling a beige Ford Escort. As Happy backed into his spot and parked his ride, the SAMCRO President watched with interest as the woman got off the bike, removing Happy's helmet and shaking out long trails of wavy hair, the color of which Jax was unable to determine in the darkness, even with the moon shining brightly in the clear night sky.

"Is that the girl helping Hap with his mother?" the VP wondered out loud. "The caregiver?"

"Must be," Jax said his voice barely audible as he watched Happy grab the young woman by her bicep and practically drag her, first over to the tow truck to retrieve a heavy-looking bag and then onward to the Clubhouse.

 _Well, this ought to be interesting_ , Opie smirked to himself as he noted the look of intrigued interest on his best friend's face as he eyed the tall and slender woman. _Very interesting indeed_!

* * *

Stomping his way through the Clubhouse, Happy ignored the greetings tossed his way by several hang-arounds playing pool and sitting at the bar. Marlowe barely had a second to take in her surroundings as Happy headed past the kitchen and an alcove in which a beautiful teal bike was on display before they both came to an abrupt stop in front of a closed door about mid-way down the hallway.

About to open her mouth, Happy stopped both her words and her heart by training his nearly-black eyes on her. "Don't start," he warned as he let go of her arm and pulled the keys hanging from the chain attached to his wallet from the pocket of his jeans. Finding the right key without even looking, he opened the padlock and threw open the door.

" _Don't start_?!" Marlowe complained as she followed him inside after waiting for an invitation to enter that never came. "Hap, I thought you were taking me to a motel. I'm tired. I need a shower and a bed."

Dumping her back pack on the floor, Happy strode over to the door and closed it. "Shower," he said, pointing at a closed door on the other side of the room, which Marlowe assumed was an en suite bathroom, before directing her attention to the rumpled mess taking up most of the room. "Bed."

"Okay, you Neanderthal. I'm glad you're learning new words and all," Marlowe replied, a hand on her cocked hip. "But could you please put 'em in a sentence and tell me what that has to do with me?"

Happy ran a hand over his bald head. "This is where you're staying, smartass."

" _Tonight_?" Marlowe asked with mild trepidation.

"For the duration," Happy replied, somewhat smug. "Any more questions?"

Taken aback, Marlowe stopped glaring at Happy long enough to look around. The mid-sized room was simply outfitted with a double bed, a chest of drawers and a desk with a chair. "First of all," Marlowe turned to face Happy once again. "Where the fuck am I and whose room is this?"

"You're at the Clubhouse and this is my dorm," Happy replied. "Are we done 'cause after spending the day with you, I could use a drink?"

Marlowe sputtered angrily as words failed her. "Your dorm? _If_ I stay in your dorm, where are _you_ gonna stay?"

" _In my dorm_ ," Happy said, wagging his finger at her indicating that it was a bad idea for her to open her mouth. "I'm not always around and shit, so it's not a big fuckin' deal, Marlowe. I'll just crash on the floor when I have to. I just don't want you messing with my shit is all."

Marlowe blinked at him several times as she absorbed his plan for her accommodations. "Let me get this straight," she started, putting up a hand. "You go through all the trouble of setting Tía up at the hospital and rehab, not telling me shit until it's all set in stone, knowing there's no way I was letting her come here alone, yet you couldn't be bothered to hook me up with a place of my own? How goddamned cheap are you?!"

"An extended stay at a motel is gonna cost coin, which you ain't got. Your piece of shit cage just died and it's gonna cost to fix it. Again, coin you ain't got, so why shell out dough for a room when I have a perfectly good bed here?" Happy argued.

"Uh, maybe because I don't want to roll around on the cum sponge you call a bed," Marlowe nearly bellowed.

 _All I want is my own space_ , Marlowe whined to herself. _And n_ _ot being under Happy's foot_.

"Look, ain't being with Ma the reason you're here?"

"Yes, but—"

"No fuckin' buts, then," Happy griped. "You'll be down at the hospital most of the day anyway. All you need is a place to shower and sleep. Renting a motel room that's gonna sit empty half the time is _wasteful spending_."

' _Sides, I can keep a close eye on you if you're right under my nose._

Truth was, Happy wasn't too keen on cutting Marlowe loose in Charming. Women connected to SAMCRO had a way of ending up hurt around here—Donna, Luann, Gemma, Tara, just to name a few. Although Marlowe wasn't technically connected to the Club, she was his responsibility and with her getting out of the Navy in one piece, Happy was not about to let anything happen to her on his watch, especially with SAMCRO now in bed with the Cartel. Happy realized that he could probably save them both a lot of grief by just explaining this to Marlowe, but they still had a lot of unresolved shit to deal with first before he'd put his concerns for her out there like that.

Instead, he continued treating her with little regard to the fact that she had a mind of her own. "Just remember, Marley, my Clubhouse, my rules," he said sternly as he headed to the door. "I'm gonna pick us up some grub. Keep your ass in here until I tell you otherwise. _I mean it_."

Paying no attention to the heated growl aimed at his back, Happy closed the door behind him as he headed toward the main room. Before he came back with their food, he was going to take care of additional protection for Marlowe.

* * *

Doing his third and final set of curls with a 50 lb. barbell, Kozik watched as his right bicep flexed and retracted with his efforts.

 _My ass may be pushing 50, but I'm probably in the best shape of my life_.

And in Kozik's mind, making the jump back to the mother charter had a lot to do with that. Having spent eight years with the Tacoma charter, Kozik had managed to do what he had considered the impossible—he had worked himself up to an officer position as the charter's Sergeant-at-Arms, bypassing other brothers who had been there longer. Kozik's commitment to the Club was unwavering and he loved his brothers unconditionally. Although thoughtful and introspective on occasion and not nearly as quick to pull the trigger on his Glock like some of his more volatile brothers, after over twenty-five years in the MC he knew how to handle his shit.

But over the years as the Tacoma charter had grown, Kozik found the collar of his kutte getting tighter around his neck. The camaraderie that he had experienced during his early days as a member in Charming had been the standard by which he had come to compare all other SOA charters. After suffering many years of melancholy and loneliness, Kozik had finally let himself acknowledge that Charming hadn't been just a place to rest his head. It had been his home.

Much to Lorca's surprise, Kozik relinquished his SAA patch and put a request in for transfer back to the mother charter. He had known that making the jump back to Charming wasn't going to be easy, especially with Tig still hating him enough to block his every attempt. In hindsight, Kozik couldn't really blame Trager for being such an ass after their fallout. But even with the bad blood still there, the truth was that he, Tig and Happy had a long history together and had once been a tight threesome. Kozik missed his Charming brothers and held onto the hope that with him taking the first step, he and Tig would one day reconcile.

So for the last fourteen months, Kozik had dedicated himself to helping out SAMCRO in any way he could and slowly but surely, despite the fact that so many were gone from the table, Kozik started feeling the true essence of brotherhood that he had been sorely missing. Working closely with Opie, Chibs, and Piney had been the challenge he needed and wasn't getting in such a large charter like Tacoma. Even with the Club's matriarch and lovable tyrant Gemma holding sway, working in the garage once again gave him a sense of purpose.

Finally content again for the first time in years, Kozik had been motivated to act on taking control of two out of his three remaining vices. He had quit smoking and cut back significantly on his drinking. As long as he kept his junk wrapped, however, he saw no need to cut down on the pussy. And since he was no longer pickling his insides on a daily basis, he usually woke up without a hangover. On those days, he would use the quiet time before the garage opened to get back into shape in the weight room. Other times, like now, he'd hit the gym just to clear his head.

In spite of the fact that Tig continued to bust his ass relentlessly about taking the pussy way back into SAMCRO while he was locked up, Kozik knew that they had moved passed the Missy incident. It was almost like they had picked up their friendship where they had left off and even though shit had gone sideways since his brothers had returned from Stockton, there was no doubt in Kozik's mind that Charming was where he belonged.

As a recovering addict, Kozik felt like a moral degenerate for helping the Club traffic drugs for the Galindo Cartel. In retrospect, he felt he had gotten what he deserved when a small group of ghetto kids had gotten the best of him by boosting the Club's truck containing part of the Cartel's first gun shipment. Maybe it had been his own guilt for voting for the Cartel deal that let him get hustled into playing a pick-up game in the alleyway behind Happy's mother's house. Had Jax kicked his ass like he wanted to or stripped him of his patch, Kozik knew deep down he would have deserved it for getting involved in the dirty business that was drug running. Once he got past his guilt, Kozik realized how epically he had let his brothers down. After making amends with Jax, Kozik was determined not to let _anything_ go wrong on his watch ever again.

"So this is where you've been fuckin' hiding," a gravelly voice said from the doorway.

Kozik looked up and grinned as Happy walked into the makeshift gym. "Yo, bro, you're back. How's your Ma?"

Happy sat down on a low bench opposite his brother. Only a few knew of the circumstances that had led Happy to head for Bakersfield the day before and Kozik had been one of them. "She's a'ight. All settled in her room at St. Thomas."

"That was nice of Tara to help you out like that," Kozik replied as he got up to return the barbell to its proper place on the rack. Grabbing a towel that was hanging on a low bench, he mopped his sweaty face.

"Yeah, she did a'ight," Happy admitted, but he hadn't searched his brother out to talk about the Club's doctor. "Look bro, I'm gonna need you to do me a solid."

Cocking his head to the side, Kozik took in the serious expression on his brother's face. "Sure, Hap. Whatever ya need."

Happy ran a hand over his gleaming head. "You remember Marlowe, right?"

"Uh, yeah. Sure I do," he admitted, using the towel to masquerade the somewhat lecherous grin on his face.

 _She's a little hard to forget, bro_.

Despite the fact that they had had a very brief encounter, Kozik had been surprised by how quickly the two of them had felt a connection. There was just something about her and that something had been nagging at him ever since he had left Bakersfield. Years of past drug use had probably fried his brain, but Kozik couldn't escape the feeling that they had met before, memories of that encounter tugging at the back of his mind like a dream quickly forgotten upon waking.

"What do you need me to do, bro?" he asked.

"She's here."

"Here? In Charming?" Kozik questioned nonplussed.

" _In my dorm_ ," Happy answered. "She came to look after Ma while she's in the hospital and goes through rehab. She'll be here for a few months."

_Well shit._

"And she's gonna be hanging around _the Clubhouse_?"

"Yeah. Here's the thing. Marlowe," Happy paused to think over his words carefully. "She ain't exactly just a caregiver. She's kinda like family."

"Family," Kozik repeated cautiously. "You mean like she's your old—"

"Hey! Get _that_ thought the fuck out of your head, bro," Happy nearly growled. "When the fuck have you ever known me to need or want an old lady?"

Kozik held his hands up defensively. "Hey, just checking. I mean, no disrespect, I may have a couple of years on you, but I ain't dead yet. That's a fine piece of—"

"Finish that sentence and you'll find that old ass of yours in the ring _with me_ tonight," Happy's voice was coated with menace.

"Keep your shirt on, Hap. I didn't mean nothing by it, just acknowledging shit, is all," Kozik said sheepishly. "So . . . if she's not your old lady, she's—"

"My sister, and no," Happy said as Kozik's eyebrows nearly shot up into his hair line. "We're not related by blood. She's kinda adopted, just not legally."

Kozik leaned back to take in his brother's expression and found that he was only barely able to hold back a grin. It was apparent from his posture and facial expression that Happy was daring him to say shit about it, so he decided to play it down.

"That's cool, Killah. Some mothers are sentimental and shit. Can't help but pick up strays or something like that, right?"

"Something like that, yeah," Happy replied. It had actually been the other way around. He had brought Marlowe home one day and dumped her on his mother. Happy thought that at best Amelia would look after her temporarily. Considering her own upbringing being bounced around from relative to relative, he should have known that his soft-hearted mother would have no problem taking the young girl in. At first, his mother thought that Marlowe was his. However, even after finding out that the young girl was not her granddaughter, Amelia still had no problem giving her a home and had finished raising her. "She's been away for a while, but came back home right before I went inside."

"So she stuck around to take care of your Ma," Kozik commented with a grin. "I ain't surprised. Those who serve Uncle Sam know what's important and they take care of their own," he said. Noticing his brother's frown, Kozik's brow wrinkled in confusion. "This tension I picked up between the two of you, it have anything to do with her being in the Navy?"

The look that flashed across Happy's face—a combination of anger and hurt—was the only response Kozik needed. After all, anyone who knew Happy knew of his general disdain for anyone who made a living wearing a uniform—ironic considering that MC by-laws dictated that members must wear their kuttes at all times, but whatever.

Although Happy reserved the bulk of his hatred and mistrust for law enforcement, he certainly didn't shy away from making his anti-war sentiment known in the Clubhouse, in spite of the number of members who were veterans. Now, at least to Kozik, it all made sense. Happy, the least sentimental of his brothers, didn't do worry and concern. Those were feelings a hardened outlaw like him couldn't afford, or so he believed. The Unholy One was definitely not one for wearing his heart on his sleeve and it only made sense that Happy would deny himself those feelings only to have them manifest as hostility. In Hap's case, from what Kozik had witnessed, his concern for his sister had exhibited itself as mean bullying.

"Yeah," Happy started quietly. "That shit wasn't for Marley, but she's always been too hard-headed to listen to anyone but the voices in her own head," he snarked, forcing a chuckle out of Kozik. And then, against character, Happy continued, sharing more than he meant to. "I thought that her coming to me with the idea of signing up meant what I had to say mattered. I tried talking her out of it, but I got sucker-punched about a week later when she packed her shit and headed off for recruit training. I didn't talk to her again until about a week before I went into Stockton."

Kozik was bewildered. "Bro, you didn't talk to your sister for—"

"Ten years," Happy replied.

"Shit, hold a grudge much?" Kozik shook his head. "You're worse than Tig."

"I had my reasons," Happy defended himself. "You know what? Fuck you, Koz. I'm not here to explain shit to you about me and Marlowe. I need you to do me a favor."

"Sure, bro," Kozik responded without hesitation. "What is it?"

"I need you to keep an eye on her, especially when I'm not around," Happy stated. "She's not exactly crazy about living at the Clubhouse, but she's broke so this is where she's staying for now. Whenever I'm not around, especially when I'm on the road, I'm placing her under your protection. You understand what I'm saying, right?"

"Of course, Hap," Kozik replied. "Why would you even ask?"

"Because I ain't blind," Happy said sternly. "She may be hot, but she ain't a croweater and I expect my brothers not to treat her like one, especially you."

"Shit, Hap. That's a little fucked up. Who do you take me for? Tig?" Kozik said indignantly. "Not only do I respect you too much to press up on your little sister, but she's young enough to be my own kid."

"Like that shit's ever stopped you or anyone in this Clubhouse before," Happy said knowingly.

"Whoa, you can trust me, bro." Kozik stood up. "So basically, I'm on babysitting duty whenever you're not around. I can handle that."

"Yeah, introduce her around and make sure she doesn't step on any toes. She don't know shit about life in an MC and is pretty handy at getting herself into trouble, so just keep an eye on her, especially around Gemma," Happy explained as Kozik nodded. "Ma's scheduled for surgery tomorrow, so I'll be at the hospital with Marlowe until it's time for Church. I really appreciate you doing this for me, brother."

"You know it, bro." The two of them hugged it out before Happy pulled away.

"One more thing," Happy added. "My history with Marlowe, that's my business so keep it to yourself. Understood?"

"Yes, sir!" Kozik saluted Happy, who opened the door and walked down the hall. Grabbing his t-shirt, Kozik pulled it over his head as he headed for his dorm.

_Something tells me that getting to know Happy's little sister is gonna be one hell of a ride, whether Hap likes it or not._


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sons of Anarchy. I do, however, own Marlowe and any other OCs that appear in the 2 Sons Universe.**

* * *

_**Charming, CA – Friday, April 30, 2010** _

Now that she had been reduced to living life as a fuckin' hobo with no place of her own to lay her head, Marlowe realized that it was probably a blessing that she never slept more than a few hours a day anyway. Not that she had expected it to be otherwise, but sharing a dorm room with Happy wasn't as easy as he had claimed it would be.

Pissed off by his cavalier attitude about her privacy issues, Marlowe had ignored the biker when he returned to the dorm her first night in Charming with the food he had picked up from a local diner. Handing her a large and greasy meatball sub and a bottle of beer, Happy had ordered her to eat and then go to bed, before stomping out of his room, presumably to return to the party already in progress.

Shoving aside the beer and barely managing to eat a quarter of the sandwich, Marlowe had resigned herself to the inevitable. After taking a long hot shower and wrapping herself in a towel, she had carefully inspected the bed. Despite her fears that it was likely infested with God only knew what, she found that it was reasonably clean. Changing into a fitted tank top and a pair of old PT sweats, Marlowe had settled in with a paperback novel for what she knew would be another sleepless night.

The next morning found her waking up abruptly, yet bleary-eyed and drenched in a cold sweat. Having finally passed out shortly before five o'clock in the morning, the rising sun had filtered through the blinds a little over an hour later, waking her up from a fitful slumber. Rising to find herself alone, she had taken another shower to wash off her night sweats and was dressed and waiting when her brother finally stumbled into his room, stinking of booze, cheap perfume and even cheaper pussy.

"Jesus Christ!" Marlowe complained, pinching her nose with one hand while waving the other around in an attempt to dispel the stench he had dragged in. "Do I even have to guess what you were up to last night?"

"I was getting drunk and laid, repeatedly," Happy replied with a smirk. "Jealous?"

"Not really, stinky. Glad you had yourself a good ol' time, but you do we realize that we have to be at the hospital in like half an hour, right?" she asked irritably.

"I know what shit I've got to get done, Marley," Happy had sneered before heading to the bathroom, stripping off his clothes as he did. "Just get your ass outside. We're leaving in fifteen."

Grumbling under her breath, Marlowe had grabbed her backpack and jacket and walked out the door, heading towards the Main Room. Accustomed to hanging around hard-drinking and hard-living soldiers and sailors, what she saw upon entering Ground Zero hadn't surprised her, but it did have her raising both eyebrows.

"Shit," she breathed, wrinkling her nose in disgust. She was far from being a prude, but judging by the amount of skin on display by many of the passed-out women underneath and on top of men wearing kuttes, last night had been nothing short of a goddamn orgy. She felt sorry for anyone who got stuck with clean-up duty because God only knew what they would find among the debris of empty beer and liquor bottles and hastily discarded clothing items.

Luckily for Marlowe, her time spent in captivity at the Clubhouse had been quite limited with Amelia's surgery scheduled for that morning. The surgery itself had taken about two hours and, thankfully, everything had gone smoothly. Amelia had spent the rest of the morning and part of the afternoon in recovery before being moved back to her room.

Dr. Baines was pleased with the outcome and extremely optimistic about the results. Barring any complications or infections, Amelia would leave the hospital for the rehab facility in one or two weeks at the most. With plenty of decent drugs to help her cope with the pain, Amelia had been in and out of it for most of the weekend with Marlowe never leaving her side. In spite of the long scar held together by dozens of steri-strips, less than twenty-four hours later, the swelling on Amelia's right knee was gone.

* * *

_**Charming, CA – Tuesday, May 3, 2010** _

With Marlowe's car in desperate need of major repairs to get it running again, it would be out of commission for the foreseeable future. Until Happy could find the parts and the time needed to work on it, Marlowe was forced to use her own two legs to take her to and from St. Thomas whenever her brother wasn't available. It was a brisk thirty minute walk to the hospital, which Marlowe didn't mind. With the steady diet of fast food Happy was providing her, she could use the exercise. As a matter of fact, Marlowe had taken to getting an earlier start than usual in the mornings in order to go on five-mile runs around Charming before she had to be at the hospital. The crisp early spring morning air did much to clear her mind and center her restless spirit, giving her focus throughout her long days by Amelia's side.

Amelia was grateful to have Marlowe with her in Charming. If not, with Happy so busy during the day, she would have been forced to spend the first two weeks of her recovery bedridden in a strange town all alone. Usually, Happy only had time to stop by for quick visits in the afternoon, returning near the end of visiting hours to say goodnight and give his sister a ride back to the lot.

With nothing to distract them, like housekeeping or the garden, Marlowe and Amelia found themselves sharing intimate details of their lives. The fact that Amelia had a private room all to herself made opening up about intensely personal matters that much easier. Sitting in the uncomfortable chair next to her surrogate mother's bedside while drinking pitifully weak black coffee, Marlowe had opened up about some of the darker aspects of her time in the Navy. She had never expected, however, that by doing so, Amelia would feel compelled to open up and share as well. Surprisingly, instead of re-sharing stories about life in Cuba or her first years in the United States, Amelia had opened up about Happy and how he had ended up in Charming.

"It was my fault, more than anything," Amelia started.

Marlowe chuckled. "I find that hard to believe, Tía."

"Don't," the older woman advised. "Had I taken my ass home like I usually did, instead of stopping to see my boy at that tattoo place he used to work in—you remember, right, that dump on Spaulding?"

Marlowe nodded. "I remember."

"Well, I shouldn't have stopped there that night. Kique always warned me that the area was rough, especially at night, but I had worked in the neighborhood for years. Almost everyone knew me from the emergency room. I didn't think twice about it. Between the tattoo parlor and his other job as a mechanic at that motorcycle place, I hardly ever got to see him. I just wanted to make sure he was doing okay, see if he needed some money to eat," Amelia explained, discreetly wiping away a tear. "That night, a fight broke out between Kique and some redneck trailer park trash from Oildale who had been waiting to get some work done. He said some really nasty shit to me and Kique lost it. The dirt bag was kicked out and told not to come back. After, Kique ordered me to go home and I did. I walked. I could've taken the bus, but I loved to walk, especially after a long day at work. I didn't see the redneck following me home."

This was the last thing Marlowe had expected to hear. "Oh my God! What happened?" she asked with apprehension in her voice. "Did he—"

Amelia reached over to pat her hand. "No, querida, it didn't get that far. Almost, but not quite. Kique's sixth sense must have kicked in because he left the shop to make sure I got home okay. The redneck never even heard him coming. He was too busy trying to get me out of my clothes. My son beat the living shit out of him. Threw him out the living room window and dragged his ass out into the street. The neighbors heard the commotion, but they had no idea what was going on. If they had, no one would have called the cops. A couple of Kique's old friends from the neighborhood managed to pull him off the guy and by the time the cops got there, he was unconscious and bleeding badly. They didn't hesitate in arresting Kique."

"Shit!"

"Yes, and my boy was ass deep in it," Amelia agreed. "The man survived, but in spite of the attack on me, Kique was charged with aggravated assault and denied bail. He was in Chino for five months awaiting trial, but the bastard who tried to rape me was a skinhead and that prison was full of them."

Marlowe's eyes met Amelia's. "The Sons, they protected him on the inside," she guessed and Amelia nodded.

"Kept him alive through the trial. Gracias a Dios, the jury wasn't as closed-minded as that Prosecutor. Kique was acquitted, and after he got out, he went to Charming."

"And became a Son," Marlowe finished.

"After some initiation period, yes. The next time I saw him, he was sporting that thing he calls a kutte and that tattoo around his neck. And I knew the minute I laid eyes on him that he had killed for me." Amelia watched her surrogate daughter's eyes widen, first with surprise at Amelia's nonchalance and then with grim acceptance.

"He killed the skinhead, didn't he?" she asked quietly.

Amelia gave a slight nod. "Kique never told me. He didn't have to. I just _knew_. All he said was that as long as he wore that kutte and had his brothers backing him up, I would never have anything to worry about ever again. As a mother, hearing that and knowing what it meant broke my heart. I hadn't struggled to raise him by myself so that he would grow into that kind of man, but as a woman—a victim—I was glad that my son had done what he did to protect me, and that the Club that had taken him in and protected him had helped him do it."

"You know this for sure?"

"I do," she replied. "And I've accepted it because he's my son and I love him."

Marlowe nodded, but was silent. Knowing Happy, she could understand his need to kill the scumbag who had attacked his mother. With his Club supporting him, the situation was, on a personal level, very familiar for her.

"Marley," Amelia started, startling Marlowe out of her deep thoughts, "I'm telling you all this because I thought you should know who these people are now that you are in close contact with them. They protected my son and I will be forever grateful for that. But they also put him on the path to the life he is living now. That's why you need to protect yourself by steering clear of them. After all you've been through—"

Marlowe sighed, running a hand through her hair. "Okay, I get it, Tía, but there's no need to get into all that shit now."

"Maybe you should. Not with me, but with Happy. You two are so much alike, maybe he won't be as judgmental as you think—"

"You know him as well as I do, Tía, so why are you trying to convince me of something you don't believe yourself?" she said with some exasperation. "I already know how that conversation will go and so do you. I'm not in the mood for any of Happy's pearls of wisdom, including 'I fuckin' told you so'."

Amelia rolled her eyes. "The truth always finds a way of making itself known, hija. All I'm saying is that it is always better to be the one to bring it to light, instead of having it come out in a way that won't go over well with your brother."

"I'll cross that bridge if I ever get to it. Right now, I don't see any reason to divulge to Hap just how fucked up my life has become," Marlowe stood up. "I'm gonna go grab some lunch. I'll bring you back something."

As she exited the room, Amelia shook her head wryly before picking up the remote lying in her lap. "Marley always likes to tempt shit. Hopefully, I won't be around the day her brother loses his."

* * *

_**Charming, CA – Wednesday, May 4, 2010** _

Having had yet another argument with Happy about the lack of her own accommodations, Marlowe was unwilling to share Happy's dorm, especially when he was around. It also didn't help that Happy hadn't had an opportunity to look at her car or order whatever parts were needed. If the damn piece of shit wasn't so beat up and the back seat so uncomfortable, she would have preferred sleeping in her car, a reasonable alternative than having to stay at the Clubhouse.

Instead, Marlowe appropriated for herself the small couch in the Main Room—that is, whenever it was available. She was pretty much doing what she could to stay out of everyone's way, erecting a wall between herself and anyone who tried to breach it. Surprisingly, that had been easier than she had expected and it soon became clear that Happy had probably warned his brothers to stay out of her way, and most did.

Except Kozik.

With Happy suddenly announcing that he was heading out of town for a few days with some of the Club, Marlowe had been doing her best to keep a low profile on the lot, spending most of her time with Amelia at the hospital. By the time Wednesday rolled around, she had become quite adept at staying off everyone's radar.

It was now early evening and it was surprisingly quiet in the Clubhouse. In spite of having the dorm all to herself with Happy out of town, Marlowe wasn't in the mood to hole up in there alone. Venturing into the Main Room, she had only the quiet murmur of bluesy music emanating from the jukebox and the hum of low conversation of a few hang-arounds to greet her. Seeing that "her" couch was unoccupied, Marlowe made a beeline to settle comfortably in a corner with a book in hand. It had been determined by one patch, however, that the Clubhouse's newest resident should not be alone that night.

"Well, look who finally decided to come out from under her rock," a jovial voice said.

Marlowe raised an eyebrow, putting a finger to hold her place in her book as Kozik plopped down next to her. "Well, well, surfer dude. We meet again."

The ex-Marine flashed an engaging grin. "I'm not into riding boards. Just bikes."

"And on occasion, broads," she added snarkily.

"Oh most definitely," he grinned. "You offering?"

"Sorry, jarhead," Marlowe laughed as she shook her head. "I was just making an observation."

"Good, 'cause I would definitely take you up on the offer, sweetheart, without a doubt. Shit, I'm sure we'd make some beautiful babies too," Kozik teased flirtatiously. "But I've grown attached to living and Hap wouldn't hesitate to deprive me of the pleasure." His grin started to fade, however, as he noted Marlowe's heated expression.

"Did he warn you to stay away from me?" she demanded incredulously. "Because Happy Lowman is not the boss of me and I _will_ fuck whoever I want."

"Nah, girl, don't take it the wrong way," Kozik laughed as the young woman rolled her eyes. "However much I would _love_ letting you show him who's the boss by volunteering my services, me and Hap, we go a long ways back. He's my Club brother, but I love him like he's blood. His family is _my_ family and I have too much respect for him to cross that line."

Feeling like an idiot, Marlowe felt her cheeks flush. "Shit, I just totally sounded like a spoiled, moody teenager, didn't I?"

"Maybe a little, but don't sweat it, sweetheart," Kozik replied with a wink. "I get the frustration. I have an older brother myself who can't accept that a four year-age difference don't mean shit when you're a grown man. I can relate."

"Oh Jesus Christ! You mean to tell me this shit will never change?" Marlowe cast her grey eyes heavenward as if pleading for mercy.

"Nope, probably not." Kozik propped his feet up on the low coffee table in front of them. "That is one overprotective son of a bitch. All these years sharing a patch and I had no idea Killah had a baby sister."

" _Killah_?" Marlowe repeated with a smirk.

"Uh, yeah," Kozik stammered and coughed. "Just a nickname. You know, short for . . . 'lady killer'."

Marlowe wiggled her eyebrows knowingly and smiled, nodding. " _Riiiight_. I get it."

Kozik shrugged, moving on. "I can understand why he'd want to keep family shit on the down low," he paused, accepting a beer from a nubile croweater and flashing her a smile of thanks before waving her away. "So I definitely wasn't expecting to run into a 'little sister' the first time I'm in his mother's house. Knowing his Ma's medical issues, I just assumed that you were—"

" 'The caregiver', " Marlowe made air quotes with her index fingers, her dainty nose scrunched up in distaste. If it were socially acceptable to just spit on the floor, she would.

"Yeah, something like that."

Deeming the conversation a lot more interesting than what she was reading, Marlowe tossed the book onto the coffee table. Cocking her head to the side, she eyed the handsome patch. "So what exactly _do_ you know? About me, that is."

"Not much," Kozik replied honestly. "Hap's not really much of a talker and he didn't really have time to download a lot of shit. Just the basics—that he's known you since you were a kid, that his Moms kind of adopted you and took you in."

Marlowe nodded suspiciously with pursed lips. "And that's it?"

"He did mention that you haven't been around for a while," Kozik added hesitantly. "I kinda got the vibe that you two haven't spoken much since you joined the Navy."

Marlowe chuckled sarcastically. " _Much_? How about not at all in ten years? Shit, he can barely bring himself to growl a few words at me now."

"Did he ever tell you why?" Kozik asked. Marlowe shook her head and it was clear to Kozik that fact made her sad. "Hap's a complicated guy. He may not be big on displays of emotion, but I'm sure he loves you. He wouldn't put you under my protection when's he out of town if he—" he stopped mid-sentence as one of Marlowe's eyebrows arched significantly.

"Son of a bitch! He put you on babysitting duty, didn't he? That's why you're stuck here on the couch with me when you could be face down in red bush mountain over there?" she said, referring to the red-headed croweater that had brought him the beer and was in the process of blowing Kozik in her mind from across the room.

Kozik choked on his beer. "Shit, almost forgot what dirty potty mouths you sailors have."

" _Don't_ change the subject. I'm right, aren't I? He's making you look after me while he's gone. What does he think I'm gonna do this time, run off and join the circus?"

"First of all, sweetheart, nobody makes me do shit I don't wanna do, 'kay?" Kozik pointed his beer bottle at her. "Second, I don't mind. I could be doing worse things than sitting here with a pretty girl shootin' the shit. 'Sides, we kinda got interrupted the first time we met. I know you're a Corpsman," he said, indicating her right forearm. "But you never told me who you served with."

Marlowe looked at the patch for a long moment. It was the first time in a long time that anyone had asked her about herself, other than Amelia. The first time in a long time that anyone seemed genuinely interested in hearing about her career in the military. Not even Happy had cared enough to ask her about a huge chunk of her life that was now suddenly gone. The fact that a total stranger cared enough to ask tore her heart to pieces. Marlowe opened her mouth to tell him she wasn't interested in talking about that part of her life and was stunned to the core by her response.

"I served with the 1st Battalion 5th Marines."

"Get the fuck outta here! Are you shitting me?" he exclaimed with a cackle.

Regaining her composure, Marlowe smiled. "I shit you not. Why all the excitement?"

"Because _I_ served with the 5th back in '78."

Marlowe narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously. "You're lying," she accused good-naturedly.

"Nope, straight outta Camp Pendleton. And not just me." Kozik put his beer down. "Yo, Tiggy! Bring your ass over here a minute."

" _Whaaaat_?!" came a plaintive wail. Sitting at one of the tables clear across the room, Tig had a buxom blond croweater sitting astride his lap. "Don't you see I kinda got my hands full right now?" he asked as he tweaked one of the woman's breasts.

"That shit ain't going nowhere, asshole. Come on over and meet a 'brother'," Kozik ordered.

After shoving the girl off of his lap, Marlowe watched as the crazy-haired biker she had noticed on the lot make his way to the couch. Dropping down into the armchair across from Marlowe, she watched as his many rings glinted in the light of the ceiling lamp.

"You losing it, shithead. What brother? All I see is your tired ass trying to push up on a newbie," Tig declared, casting an appreciate glance over Marlowe. "How you doin', doll? Why don't you come and sit on Uncle Tiggy's lap and hook up with a real man?" He threw a wink in her direction.

"Yo, keep it in your pants, Don Juan Douchebag," Kozik wrapped a beefy, protective arm around Marlowe's shoulders. "This ain't no sweetbutt you're mindfucking. _This_ is our 'brother'. She's also Hap's little sister. You know, the one I told you about."

"What?! I didn't know _this_ is Hap's sister. All you told me was that he had one and that I should steer clear or Killah would yank my nuts through my ears. Now that I know, I can be a good little patch," Tig grinned as he eyed the attractive woman. "But I'll risk my nuts and be bad if you want me to, baby—" Catching himself Tig did a double-take and eyed Kozik. "What do you mean she's our brother?"

"Marley here served, man, with the 5th, our old battalion."

"Are you shitting me?" Tig cocked his head at Marlowe.

"Nope." Grinning impishly, Marlowe cupped her hands around her mouth and cut loose with a loud "Geronimo!"—the Battalion's nickname—drawing the attention of everyone in the Main Room as Kozik and Tig responded with the Marine battle cry, "Oorah!"

"Well, shit, that's what I get for getting my ass kicked out before the good looking broads started joining up," Tig grinned lasciviously before holding out a hand. "Welcome home, brother."

For a moment, Marlowe was afraid to reach out and take the offered handshake. It had been a long time since she felt a part of a brotherhood that the Marines had become for her. Forcing herself, she extended her arm, taking his hand in hers with a hard grip and found that it wasn't so hard to do after all.

"Thanks, brother," she responded with a genuine smile.

"So what were you doing with the 5th?" Kozik asked.

"On my last TOD, I served as a Fleet Marine Force Corpsman, 3rd Platoon, Golf Company, Regimental Combat Team 6 in Fallujah," Marlowe replied. "Another Corpsman and I were responsible for the medical needs of 38 marines."

"Shit, a Corpsman, huh?" Tig asked intrigued. "How many tours did you do?"

"Three. I did my first in Iraq before getting my FMF rating. The last two I served in Afghanistan."

"Where didja go through basic?" Kozik wanted to know. "Up at the Lakes?"

Marlowe nodded. "Yup, the Great Lakes Naval Training Center. Did my medical training at the Naval Hospital Corps School on site there too. After returning from eighteen months in Baghdad, my CO recommended me for Marine Force Warfare Specialist training and shipped my ass off to Camp Pendleton," Marlowe sighed. " _That_ shit was a gold-plated son of a bitch to get through. Don't know how, but I made it."

"No doubt," Tig said quietly impressed.

"And then the real fun started when I deployed with the Marines to Afghanistan and pulled two tours back-to-back," she explained, wistfully recalling her accomplishments, becoming the second female corpsman ever to attain a Fleet Marine Force rating.

 _Only to lose it all because of one stupid mistake_ , she thought bitterly.

"I bet you saw a lot of shit go down," Tig noted thoughtfully quietly, surprising Kozik by the amount of respect he was showing Marlowe, _a woman_.

Marlowe nodded somberly. "Too much," she admitted. Pausing briefly, she ran her hands through her hair. "What about you two? Did you serve together?"

"Unfortunately," Kozik replied with a dramatic eye roll.

"Shut the fuck up, Kozy. Meeting me was the best thing that ever happened to your sorry ass," Tig claimed with very little modesty. "I met this asshole at a fuckin' bar off base in Okinawa. Lance Corporal Herman Kozik was in the process of having his ass handed to him—"

Marlowe snickered. " _Herman_?!" she cried out, but was nearly drowned out by Kozik's bellow of protest.

"No, no, no! That's bullshit, man!" Kozik was yelling at Tig. "I had my shit under control the whole time!"

Tig flipped him off. "Get the fuck outta here! Your next stop would have been the infirmary had I not stepped in and you know it!" he shot back.

"Yeah, and I haven't been able to get rid of your ass since," Kozik waved him away.

"Consider yourself lucky. If not for me, what would you have done with yourself after getting discharged?" Tig shrugged his shoulders with some pride as he addressed Marlowe. "I introduced him to SAMCRO, helped the asshole patch in and he's been a fuckin' thorn in my ass ever since."

Motioning for his blond croweater to bring them over some beers, Tig continued regaling Marlowe with stories of his time making Kozik's life hell in Okinawa. Time seemed to pass by seamlessly as the trio shared their experiences of their time with the U.S. Marines. As dusk came and went, other Club members as well as hang-arounds started trickling in. With loud music and boisterous partying going on around them, they continued talking, oblivious to their surroundings as the conversation went from light-hearted and funny to heavy and painful, with Marlowe sharing tidbits of what fighting a modern war was like in a post-9/11 world. Never really knowing who the enemy was, it was easy to lose focus on humanity as a whole. In danger of having the beer and their easy camaraderie loosen her tongue further, Marlowe decided that it was time to call it a night.

Using the two croweaters that had been giving her the hairy eyeball as they circled Tig and Kozik throughout their bull session as a diversion, Marlowe rose, grabbing her book from the coffee table as the two women all but crawled into the men's laps.

"I appreciate the distraction, boys, but I think it's time I turned in," Marlowe said. "It was a good time."

"That it was," Tig said, the blond with huge tits nibbling on his ear. "Next time, don't be such a stranger," he threw over his shoulder before grabbing the croweater's face in one massive hand, squeezing her cheeks and puckering her lips before diving in for a deep, wet kiss.

Marlowe smirked as she headed towards Happy's dorm.

Breaking eye contact with the redhead making dirty promises for a very good night, Kozik looked at Marlowe's retreating back before calling out, "You have a good night, _Doc_."

* * *

**Glossary**

**Gracias a Dios: Thank God**


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sons of Anarchy. I do, however, own Marlowe and any other OCs that appear in the 2 Sons Universe.**

* * *

_**Friday, May 7, 2010** _

Looking forward to washing off six hours-worth of grime from his sweaty body, Jax threw the oily rag he had wiped his hands down with onto the worktable and headed towards the Clubhouse. After he showered, Jax was looking forward to grabbing a bite to eat and catching a few hours of shuteye before Church. It had been two days since he last went home to Tara and he had not been sleeping well at night. Now, after working out his frustrations in the garage since early morning, he was starting to feel the exhaustion creep in.

With the exception of Tig, Bobby, and Juice, most of his brothers were on their way back from Nevada and the lot was devoid of the activity common on a typical Friday afternoon. In the Clubhouse, there were only a couple of hang-arounds playing pool while a handful of croweaters milled about the main room getting it ready for the after-Church party later tonight and an unfamiliar face sitting at the bar.

 _She's not exactly unfamiliar_ , thought Jax wryly.

He had actually seen her ride onto the lot on the back of Happy's bike about a week ago. While the former Tacoma Killer had cleared it with him about letting her stay at the Clubhouse for a while, Jax had still not been formally introduced. Apparently, it hadn't been a lack of etiquette on Happy's part either. Jax had heard through the grapevine—and they didn't call Juice the Intelligence Officer for nothing—that the girl was a bit of a loner and not inclined to bend to anyone's will easily. Not even Happy's.

A stubborn, pig-headed woman wasn't exactly something new to Jax, but his old lady Tara and even his mother Gemma understood that, at least in the Clubhouse, the patches were in charge. It was rude, especially for a SAMCRO woman—old lady or croweater—to refuse an introduction, especially when as President he had okay'd having an outsider crash at the Clubhouse as a favor to Happy. But according to Juice, Marla, Margo, or whatever-the-fuck-her-name wasn't Happy's old lady, which Jax could have guessed all on his own. Happy, along with Kozik, had prospected with the mother charter, patching in before both had made the jump to Tacoma. Jax had known Happy for many years and in all that time, Happy had never once had an old lady. Never saw the point, he had explained once, as any SOA Clubhouse from Charming to Tucson to Vancouver and beyond was a veritable pussy buffet. Why settle for one main course when you could have multiple, even at the same time?

Now that he and Tara had hit a rough patch in their relationship once again, Jax was starting to see the wisdom in Killah's way of thinking. That was the main reason why the long-limbed beauty with the caramel-colored hair and blonde highlights sitting at the bar baffled him. As far as he knew, which admittedly wasn't much, Happy wasn't even hitting that shit. The young woman, with silver rings on her fingers and a thing for desert camouflage cargo pants that slung low on her slim hips and combat boots, had been offered Happy's dorm room by Happy himself. She, however, didn't take kindly that Happy was part of the deal and had opted to sleep on one of the couches instead, only retreating to the dorm when Happy was working in the garage or on the road.

Instead of heading to his own dorm like he had planned, his now home-away-from-home again, Jax swaggered over behind the bar and grabbed himself an ice cold beer from the icebox. The young woman was leaning against the bar with her arms crossed in front of her as she held a paperback book in one hand. Jax knew the exact moment she put the book down as he could practically feel her eyes studying him as he popped open the bottle. Trying to catch her off guard, Jax suddenly looked up, his crystal blue eyes clashing with her heather gray ones. Totally unfazed, she met his gaze directly.

With a slight smirk and a raised blond eyebrow, Jax offered her the beer. Lazily raising one of her multi-ringed hands, she waved him off, the expression on her face unchanged.

Bringing the beer up to his lips, Jax took a healthy swig, his eyes never leaving hers. "Jax Teller," he said simply by way of introduction. If no one was so inclined to do the honors, he'd do it himself.

 _Never had a problem approaching a pretty woman before Tara. Why the fuck start now_?

Instead of reciprocating with a name, the young woman replied without irony, "I know who you are."

Taken just a smidge by surprise, Jax quickly recovered and chuckled before taking another gulp of beer. "That's funny cuz I have no clue who you are and this being my Clubhouse and all, I—"

"Marlowe," she replied before Jax could finish.

Noticing the colorful and intricate portrait of 1950's pin-up Bettie Page decorating her left arm for the first time, Jax smiled. With his eyes suddenly drawn to the full bottom lip she was gently gnawing between her teeth, Jax couldn't help but wonder what other tattoos she was sporting and where.

"Marlowe your stage name?" Jax knew he was being an asshole, but he was looking to unnerve her a little bit, get her to drop the Ice Queen routine.

Unperturbed, Marlowe ran the tip of her little pink tongue over the lip she had been biting. "I'm not a stripper."

Jax gave her a sexy, lazy smile, his eyes still focused on her pouty mouth. "I didn't say you were, darlin'," he lied with a straight face because that was exactly what he had been insinuating. Although Hap had filled him in on her status as his mother's caregiver, for some reason, Jax wanted to jerk her chain a little. "Just wondering if you have a last name or if you just go by Marlowe, like Madonna or Cher."

Finishing off his beer, Jax smiled broadly as he saw her soften a bit as she tried to keep one corner of her mouth from curling into a half-smile. "Just Marlowe will do, but if you must know, my government name is Guthrie," she replied cheekily.

Jax laughed good-naturedly. "Your government name, huh? Well, then, we'll go with _just_ Marlowe." Jax pulled a bottle of Jack from one of the shelves lining the wall behind the bar. "What are you drinkin', Marlowe?"

She shook her head. "Nothing. I was just sitting here, minding my business. If that bothers you, I can take a hike." Marlowe made to get off the stool, but Jax grabbed her arm with the Bettie Page tattoo.

"Whoa," Jax said, his brow knitted in confusion. Usually, he never got turned down when offering a woman a drink. Shit, Jax Teller never got turned down for _anything_ , especially not by a woman. Without moving her head, Marlowe looked down at the large, slightly calloused hand gripping her wrist with the leather strap bracelet. "I said no such thing, darlin'. I just don't like drinking by myself." Finally letting go of her, Jax dropped two whiskey glasses on the bar and filled each with three fingers of Jack.

Placing a glass in front of her, Jax watched as she gently nudged the drink away, as if instead of Jack Daniels neat, he was offering her a glass of corruption. "Thanks, but I'm not much of a drinker," Marlowe lied.

With a raised eyebrow, Jax picked up his glass and drained it before filling it up again. "I wasn't getting the fruity-girly drink vibe from you, darlin'. I just thought you looked like you could use a drink."

 _You have no idea, handsome, but Prozac and whiskey don't really mix well_.

"It's just a little early for me, that's all," Marlowe replied, her voice soft. "You can try me again later," she offered, her eyes sparkling and a ghost of a smile playing on her lips.

 _Holy shit! Where in the hell did that just come from? Suddenly I'm flirting like a fuckin' seaman on shore leave!_ Marlowe chastised herself. Jax suddenly flashed her his patented panty-dropping smile and her insides clenched deliciously, her womanly core springing to life. _Oh yeah, horny sailor asking for permission to go ashore, sir!_

"Oh, I will, darlin'," Jax drawled as he took the glass he had set before her back. Throwing her whiskey down his throat, Jax leaned towards her on the bar. "I love a woman with self-control, but I must say, hanging around a Clubhouse full of dirty, hard-partying bikers must be doing a number on your will power."

He was mere inches from her face and Marlowe had to fight the urge to close her eyes as she inhaled the intoxicating aroma of the whiskey on his breath. "Let's just say I'm not exactly well-known for my self-control, _darlin'_ ," she replied saucily. Now it was her turn to leisurely savor his mouth with her eyes, which did not go unnoticed by Jax.

Jax licked his lips and ran a hand over the hair on his chin. She may have turned down his offer of a drink, but he was starting to get the feeling that maybe a drink wasn't what she was thirsty for. If he kicked the charm into full throttle, another twenty minutes of flirty banter and just maybe he wouldn't have to take that shower all by himself. Before he could find out, however, the Clubhouse door flew open with the aforementioned dirty, hard-partying bikers spilling into the main room. Suddenly, the room was filled with a flurry of activity as one of the croweaters threw on some music as a couple of others headed to the bar and started passing out beers to the road weary crew newly-arrived from Reno.

Catching a glimpse of Happy's bald head, Marlowe decided to beat a hasty retreat, grabbed her book and headed back towards the dorms before the alarmingly sexy and flirtatious SAMCRO President could stop her again. With one eye trained on Marlowe's small, but bubble round ass in her snug cargo pants, Jax was pulled into a conversation with Opie and Tig, and with the other watched as Happy waved off one of his usual croweaters who had approached him with a shot glass and a beer chaser. Without saying a word to anyone, he followed Marlowe to what Jax was sure was Happy's dorm.

* * *

Marlowe didn't even bother closing the door behind her, much less locking it. After all, it wasn't her room and Happy would just end up banging on it until she relented and opened the door anyway. Sitting on the edge of the military-style made bed, Marlowe waited for Happy to come barreling in.

He didn't disappoint.

Happy stopped just short of entering the room, his tall, lithe yet muscular frame filling the open doorway. "Honey, I'm home," he announced, which in his gravelly growl sounded just this side of ridiculous.

Marlowe crossed her arms over her chest and stared at him with what could only be described as disdain.

"You're pissed," Happy surmised when that withering look was her only response to his arrival.

"What gave you that idea?" Marlowe crossed one of her long legs over the other and bounced her foot energetically as she drummed her fingers on her arms.

Looking around his dorm and stepping inside to get a closer look at the now-sparkling bathroom, Happy turned to stand in front of Marlowe, her head level with his hips. "The fact that you cleaned my room when I asked you not to is a major clue that you're pissed and looking for a way to piss me off too."

Now she was looking at him like instead of a Harley he should be riding a short bus. "You are the only man I know that would take coming home to a clean living space as an act of aggression," Marlowe said evenly.

"I asked you not to," Happy growled.

"No, you TOLD me not to," Marlowe corrected. "But if you were gonna abandon me in Biker Town for the last three days, I'm sure you didn't expect me to hole up in a pig sty."

"I didn't _abandon_ you, Marlowe. There are always plenty of patches and old ladies hanging around that you could have taken a minute to get to know."

"That's funny, considering everyone around here goes out of their way to stay out of mine," Marlowe replied.

"That's not true," Happy said unconvincingly as he waved her away.

"Bullshit! And don't even try to convince me that you had nothing to do with that," she argued. "Besides, I'm not here to make nice, Hap. I wouldn't be here at all if you were a man of your word," she accused and instantly knew she had said the wrong thing if the look on his face was anything to go by.

Taking a step back, Happy used his booted foot to kick the door closed. Quickly jumping to her feet, Marlowe instantly took a defensive stance. There was no way in hell she could outfight a man built like Happy, but she'd be damned if he thought he could slap her around like one of his biker groupies without her fighting back.

"So which is it, Marley? Are you being a fuckin' bitch about having to stay at the Clubhouse or is this about me not fixing your piece of shit car yet?" Happy spit out. "Either way, I told you I was gonna help you out and that's what I'm trying to do, so stop being such a cunt about it."

She was back to flashing him with a withering look as she cocked a hip, her hands resting on the exposed flesh between the waist of her cargo pants and the white wife-beater she was wearing. "You kiss Amelia with that mouth?"

Happy pointed an index finger at her. "Don't go there, Marlowe," he growled.

"Seriously, Hap, what would your mother say if she heard you talking to me like that?"

Happy shook his shaved head. "She'd prolly twist my ear off, but she has no clue what a pain in the ass you are."

"Ha!" Marlowe laughed sarcastically. "That's funny that you can say that with a straight face. Trust me, Amelia knows. I wouldn't know that you get your temper from her if I _wasn't_ such a pain in the ass."

In spite of himself, Happy laughed gruffly.

"Seriously, Happy, the last three days would not have sucked balls if my car had been running," Marlowe said. "I want my car."

"Tough shit! Your piece of shit cage is not a priority right now!" Happy nearly bellowed.

"Silly me," Marlowe started condescendingly. "I thought that when you offered to have it towed here, an actual garage, that it would get fixed because, you know, that's what usually happens in a garage." Happy squeezed his eyes shut and hit himself repeatedly on the side of the head with a clenched fist. Marlowe crossed her arms and watched him abuse himself with a bored expression on her face before finally stepping forward and grabbing his arm. "Stop that, you moron!"

"Trust me, bitch, it hurts a lot less than having this conversation with you again."

Fighting the urge to punch him in the face with his own fist, Marlowe laughed in spite of herself. "Okay, so give it to me straight, Hap, no bullshit. How much longer is it gonna take to fix my car?"

"You mean considering that the money for parts is coming outta my pocket and since you can't pay for the labor either, I have to find the time to work on it myself?" Happy groused.

"Yeah, considering all that, asshole, how long?" she asked again.

"I don't fuckin' know, Marlowe. In case you haven't noticed, I just dragged my ass in here from a three-day run. I have to be at the table in a few hours for Church and right now all I want is a shower, some food, and pussy. Unless you plan on helping me with any of the above, I suggest you chill out until I can check to see if the parts came in or not." Wasting no time, Happy started stripping, beginning with his kutte, followed by his t-shirt. Marlowe rolled her eyes and started going around him towards the door, but stopped. Happy gave her an evil grin. "Change your mind?"

"Uh, not a chance, Killah," Marlowe replied, using the Club's nickname for Amelia Lowman's pride and joy. "I have a question."

Happy ran a hand roughly over his face. "Enough with the fuckin' questions!"

"What's the deal with the Club Pres?"

Happy dropped his hand and gave Marlowe a quizzical look as she just confirmed that he hadn't been seeing things. Jax _had_ been cozying up to Marlowe at the bar.

* * *

_**Saturday, May 8, 2010** _

_Stay away from him, Marlowe_.

He had meant it as a command, but to Marlowe it had sounded like a warning. She had tried to press Happy to elaborate on his statement, but he ignored her as he proceeded to unbutton his jeans. Fearing that he was about to confirm her suspicion that he normally went commando after not finding a single pair of drawers—clean or otherwise—during her cleaning frenzy, Marlowe did an about-face and exited the room.

The after-Church party had finally died down about an hour ago. Even though Marlowe had lost all hope of ever sleeping normally again a long time ago, she was a creature of habit. Since staying at the Clubhouse, she had taken to claiming the couch shoved into a corner as her own at night, once most members and hang-arounds had called it a night and headed home. There, she would curl up in her PT sweats and t-shirt with her journal-slash-sketchbook for hours. Although sleep almost never came, a catnap being as far as it went nowadays, that couch was her little piece of this strange world Happy had thrust her into practically against her will. Aside from Happy's dorm, when he wasn't there of course, the grubby, tattered couch was where she felt safest at night.

With the after-Church party raging for hours, Marlowe had wandered aimlessly around the lot. Every so often she would duck her head into the Clubhouse to see if her spot was vacant, but there was always a crowd on or around _her_ couch. Once she had even seen Happy being dry humped by a scantily-clad croweater as he was engrossed in deep conversation with the biker with the scars on his face and a thick accent.

 _Chibs_ , Marlowe recalled was his name.

Aside from Kozik and Tig—and let's not forget Chatty Cathy Jax Teller earlier in the day—Chibs had been the only one that had even bothered to introduce himself during the Friday night bacchanalia in the Clubhouse. Not that she had been as talkative with him like she had been with Jax, but at least Chibs had tried. Otherwise, Marlowe got the feeling that she was being purposefully ignored by Happy's brothers. Knowing Hap, he had probably threatened doing bodily harm to anyone he caught talking to her, which didn't make any sense since he was always harping on her to get to know everyone.

 _Mingle_ , Happy had said when she first arrived at the Clubhouse. That was precious coming from the most anti-social misanthrope Marlowe had ever known in her life. Happy Lowman wasn't exactly what she would characterize as a people person.

The last time she had checked on her corner of the SAMCRO Clubhouse, the couch had been occupied by a skanky-looking redhead with a burly, hairy biker face planting in her crotch. If sleep never eluded her before, it would most definitely stay away now. Realizing that it was almost dawn anyway, Marlowe sat on the picnic table outside with her hard-backed journal opened across her lap and extracted one of her favorite sketch pencils from a small brown leather case.

Rolling it between her fingers, Marlowe's eyes formed into narrow slits as she allowed her hand to sweep across the blank page. As was usually the case, she had no idea what she wanted to draw and simply let her unconscious mind take her hands on a journey until the picture finally revealed itself. The dwindling light from the fires in the large oil drums scattered around the lot cast long eerie shadows, but with the morning sun starting to creep overhead, Marlowe became suddenly engrossed in her work as its shape started to emerge.

Lost in the drawing, it was only the soft snap of a Zippo lighter opening and the aroma of a freshly lit cigarette that alerted her to the fact that she was no longer alone.

"That's pretty damn good," Jax Teller said quietly as Marlowe felt goose bumps break out over her bare arms. Tossing her hair over her shoulder, she looked to see the SAMCRO President perched quietly next to her on the corner of the picnic table.

 _Damn, either he's one stealthy bastard or I'm getting soft due to inactivity_ , she thought slightly irritated. Although sketching had been a hobby she had picked up as a child, recently it had become more therapeutic in nature. It was also very personal and private and she couldn't help but feel a little miffed at the intrusion.

Soon after Happy had brought her into the Lowman home and dumped the young child on his poor, unsuspecting mother, Marlowe had picked up drawing as a way to bond with the gruff, hardcore biker. Or at least, she had hoped it would be a bonding experience for them. Stumbling over Happy one morning as he worked out an idea for an original tattoo one of his brothers had requested, Marlowe had become obsessed with the idea of learning how to draw as good as her surrogate brother. Succumbing to her pestering if only to shut her ass up, Happy had returned from one of his road trips with a small brown leather zippered case containing a set of professional quality pencils and a blank pad for her.

"That oughta keep you out my ass," he had said grumpily, dropping his gift onto her bed before stomping out of her room. Thusly, Marlowe's nearly-lifelong love of drawing was born.

Having spent already a significant amount of time as a loner, Marlowe had no interest in playing outside with the neighborhood kids. Instead, the young girl would spend much of her time scribbling and trying to emulate what she had seen Happy do. One spring day, lost in her own world as she sketched while stretched out on the lawn in the backyard, Happy had appeared seemingly out of thin air. Suddenly reaching down, he grabbed the pad from her. Taking a good, long look at what she had been working on, Happy started flipping through the pages, examining each one without comment.

Sitting down beside her, he said, "Let me show you some tricks." He then proceeded to give her pointers that would improve her already impressive skill. From that day forward, drawing became an addiction she had to indulge in on a daily basis, especially during her time as a Hospital Corpsman. Incorporating sketches with written entries in her journals, Marlowe captured the good, the bad and the downright ugly of her time in the service of her country.

After being denied access to the proper art supplies for some time, Marlowe had found it difficult to take up the hobby once again upon her return to Bakersfield. There were just some things that the former Corpsman no longer wanted to see or remember, much less draw with her own hands. Sensing that something was off with her niece, Ceci remembered seeing first hand how beneficial art therapy had been for some emotionally-challenged students in her school. Knowing how talented Marlowe had once been, Ceci had taken it upon herself to stick her big nose where Marlowe would argue it didn't belong.

One day, several months before Happy's release from Stockton, Ceci had shown up unannounced at Amelia's and dropped a couple of sketch pads and a pack of already sharpened pencils on the couch next to Marlowe. "Whatever's haunting you, Marley, put it on paper and burn it later if you have to. But just get it out, sweetheart," she had advised quietly, before going in search of her sister to start an argument over _nothing_ , leaving behind a stunned Marlowe.

As the two women brought their argument out of the kitchen and into the living room, Marlowe's fingers started itching and soon she was effortlessly sketching the two women as they snarked back and forth, snickering to herself as she titled the completed sketch "Old School Cholas", marking her bittersweet re-acquaintance with an old love.

Right now, however, Marlowe wanted to curse her well-meaning Aunt Ceci to perdition as she finally raised her eyes to meet Jax Teller's. For some reason thinking she would be confronted with a mocking look in his eyes, she was surprised to see something hovering near admiration. Literally stumped for a moment as to how to respond, her tongue darted out to lick her dry lips.

"Uh, thanks," she proffered.

"May I?" He held out his hand, and with trepidation she offered him the sketchbook.

Tilting it closer to the light of one of the still-burning oil drums, Jax allowed his eyes to wander over the drawing. It was drawn in rough detail. The curves of the wheels and the chrome of the bike almost glinting despite the fact that it was done in graphite pencil. The tilt of the bike, angled almost as if it were taking a curve on a road, Jax could almost believe that it was moving across the page. The only thing missing was the distinct teal color of the panhead's gas tank for there was no doubt in Jax's mind that this was a rendering of his father's bike, currently on display in the Clubhouse alcove.

Taking a deep drag of his cigarette, Jax let out a long plume of blue smoke. "You've been drawing a long time, huh?"

"Since I was a kid."

Jax offered a grin. "You and Hap related 'cause this shit is totally his thing?"

"No, we're not. I may not know who my daddy is, but I do know it's not Hap. Hard to tell because most of the time the asshole sure does like acting like he is," she replied offhandedly and winced a little. Running her hand through her hair, Marlowe looked at Jax with puppy dog eyes. "Shit, I'm sure I just violated some MC protocol by badmouthing the asshole. Promise you won't rat me out to Hap."

She was so earnest that Jax couldn't help but laugh out loud. S _he's either extremely brave or somewhat touched in the head not showing the proper amount of fear when it comes to the Tacoma Killer_.

"Rat ain't a word in my vocabulary, darlin'," he smiled broadly. "Your insolence is safe with me."

 _Damn, he has a fuckin' gorgeous smile,_ Marlowe thought as she noted the sparkle in his blue eyes. Sobering up, his eyes roamed over her face and landed on her mouth and Marlowe realized just how close she was to having way too intimate a moment with the Club President.

"Can I offer you that drink now?" he said, his voice a husky whisper as he leaned towards her.

Marlowe felt the corners of her mouth lift involuntarily. "Mr. President, I get the feeling you're not really offering me a drink, are you?"

Jax's eyes darkened to the color of denim and locked with Marlowe's stormy gray ones. "No, I'm not."

 _Stay away from him, Marlowe_ , Happy's words came unbidden into her mind, forcing Marlowe to pull out of Jax's orbit.

As unwelcomed as those words were at this precise moment, Marlowe figured that Happy probably had his reasons for warning her away from Jax Teller. Until she was sure those reasons amounted to nothing more than just Happy being a pain in her ass, she would have to pass on what she was sure would be one hell of a ride.

"How about a rain check?" Marlowe asked before she could stop herself as Jax's eyebrows shot up into his hairline.

Taking another deep drag of his cigarette, Jax smirked as he flicked the butt into the parking lot. _Shit! First my old lady pushes me away and now I'm striking out in my own Clubhouse_.

"I have to be at the hospital in a couple of hours," Marlowe felt compelled to explain. "Don't wanna have to rush that _drink_ , right?" she added knowingly.

_God, I'm such a slut for blond bad boys!_

Jax chuckled. "Well, since you put it that way, darlin', a rain check it is then."

Jumping off the picnic table, Marlowe stretched an arm behind her back to get the kinks out before casting her eyes up to the sky. The sun was nearly up and if she changed into some PT gear, she could hit the streets for her five-mile run before making her way to visit Amelia. God knew that after this latest session of verbal seduction she could use the release.

"Thanks," she said with a pretty smile as she held out her hand. Jax raised a quizzical eyebrow. "My journal, please."

"Oh shit, right," he said, quickly handing it over. "You know, I really do like that sketch."

Hesitating for a moment, Marlowe took the pencil from behind her ear and, opening the book, made a quick notation at the bottom of the page. Carefully ripping out the sketch, she handed it over to a startled Jax with a flourish.

"From me to you. Enjoy," Marlowe said simply as she turned and made her way into the Clubhouse, her ass swaying gently in the early morning light.

Tearing his eyes away from her backside, Jax looked down at the sketch, a wry half-grin spreading across his face as he took in the signature.

_Just Marlowe._

* * *

**Glossary**

**Chola** : a female gangster or bad ass.


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sons of Anarchy. I do, however, own Marlowe and any other OCs that appear in the 2 Sons Universe.**

* * *

_**Wednesday, May 12, 2010** _

In spite of feeling like a fish out of water for almost two weeks, Marlowe was starting to feel like something good was finally coming her way. Feeling awkward and out of place was nothing new for her. The only place she had ever really fit in had been the military, but whatever sacrifices she had been forced to endure while in Charming—like sharing a room with Hap and going without her own mode of transportation—had all been made worthwhile after meeting with Dr. Baines.

Marlowe had spent the morning with Amelia and Happy in consultation with her surrogate mother's orthopedic surgeon. Dr. Baines was quite pleased with Amelia's progress and predicted that if she continued to recoup at the speed she had thus far, Amelia was on schedule to be discharged from St. Thomas by the end of the week. The Modesto Wellness Facility had been alerted of her anticipated release date and once transferred, Amelia would spend another week recovering before starting intensive rehabilitative physical therapy for the next twelve weeks as she learned to use her new knee and how to walk again.

Although throughout the meeting Happy had maintained the normal stoic disposition he reserved for outsiders—a mix of cold aloofness and terrifying menace—Marlowe took the sudden yet slight sag in his shoulders as a sign that he was relieved by the outcome. Flashing her with a smile disguised as a grimace and a barely perceptible wink, Marlowe knew that was her big brother's way of thanking her for the part she had played in helping get Amelia to this point.

Unfortunately, the good mood the better-than-expected news had inspired had been quickly foreshadowed in Marlowe's mind by the fact that she was still without a car. With Modesto being about thirty minutes from Charming, there was no way she would be able to see Amelia on a daily basis without wheels, which was why she now found herself sitting on a stool in one of the garage bays while Happy tinkered with her piece of shit car. Leaving the hospital earlier, Marlowe had barely waited until they were out of earshot of Amelia's room before blistering Happy's ass by revisiting the sore subject.

"So what's the deal, Hap? Any chance my car will be fixed by Friday?" she had started with a slight tinge of hope in her voice.

"We'll see," came Happy's irritated response as they strode down the hospital corridor and into an elevator already occupied by an elderly woman.

"No, we won't see," Marlowe responded indignantly. "It's been almost two weeks and my car is still sitting in the same spot on the lot untouched. You can't expect me to go to Modesto every day without a damn car."

"No, but I do expect you to stop bitching at me and get off my fuckin' ass," Happy growled. "I _said_ I was gonna fix shit."

Out of the corner of her eye, Marlowe saw the old woman nervously shift herself into the opposite corner of the elevator. Feeling bad for the frail senior, Marlowe tried to temper her tone. "When? I need a date—and, for your sake, hopefully _before_ Friday, or you're gonna have to cough up money to rent me a car."

Happy turned his head and looked at Marlowe like she had just tried to kick him in the balls. "I SAID I'll handle shit, a'ight?"

"And I SAID I need a date," Marlowe replied. Exiting the elevator behind her brother on the main floor, she heard the woman give a quiet sigh of relief as the doors were about to close, but she was too busy haranguing Happy to offer an apology. Instead, she amped up her level of abuse and insults, nipping at his heels like an angry Rottweiler ready to take a chunk out of his ass.

By the time they reached the parking lot, Happy had finally had enough. "I SAID A'IGHT ALREADY! I'LL TAKE CARE OF IT TODAY, DAMN IT!"

Happy fought the urge to throttle her as Marlowe suddenly transformed into a docile little bitch right before his eyes, as if fuckin' butter wouldn't melt in her mouth.

"That's all I wanted to know," Marlowe replied airily as she took his helmet off the handlebars and put it on. "Absolutely no need to lose your shit," she continued as she straddled his bike, expectantly staring up at Happy as he stared back with a measure of disbelief. "Uh, are we going or what?" she asked, the corner of her mouth turning up ever so slightly into a barely concealed smirk.

Tossing his leg over the seat, Happy muttered under his breath, "I swear, if I didn't need your help with Ma, I'd run you over with my ride." He then proceeded to haul ass out of the parking lot and down the street.

Now as she kept him company while he worked on her car, Marlowe tapped her foot impatiently as the first hour of repairs passed and headed into the second.

"So, how's it coming?" Marlowe asked for the fifth time in the last half hour. Holding her breath, she hoped that maybe this time she would get a different response.

No such luck.

Happy merely grunted— _again_ —and Marlowe was starting to take this as a sign that things weren't looking so good. Pulling himself out from under the hood of the Ford Escort, Happy reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a bandana. He wiped the sweat that was running down the back of his neck before stripping out of his T-M work shirt to reveal the white wife-beater underneath. The garage was buzzing with activity as the garage crew went about their work, and the noise level was near deafening. Marlowe winced as she heard the high-powered whine of what had to be a power saw being used in the next bay. Turning her head around, she watched as an oversized mechanic with his ginger-colored hair tied into a short stubby ponytail operated a metal cutting saw at one of the work benches.

"Damn, all this noise is giving me a fuckin' headache," she complained as she rubbed her temples.

"Yeah," Happy said irritably as he gave her the eye. "I know just how you feel."

Marlowe paused as she gathered her hair into a low knot at the nape of her neck. "Was that a dig?" she inquired with a fake ass smile on her face. "That wasn't a dig, was it?" she goaded.

"Yeah, it was," was his short reply.

"Asshole," she muttered, standing up. "I'm gonna take a piss."

"Good. Maybe you'll get lost on the way," Happy said as he tossed down his wrench and grinned cheekily. "Now that _my_ headache is leaving, I can take a break." Marlowe gave him a dirty look before stomping off over to the Clubhouse, her ass twitching with every step.

Pulling a pack of cigarettes from his work shirt lying on a bench, Happy heaved a sigh of relief and headed outside for a smoke.

* * *

Jax had tried.

But if the SAMCRO Pres thought that doing some honest-to-God hard physical labor would get his mind off of his troubles, he had been sorely mistaken. _Sorely_ being the operative word because, in spite of the fact that exercising his demons in the garage had worked in the past, today his exertions had done little by way of relieving the throbbing ache between his legs.

 _Even with a raging case of blue balls, I'm not sure_ _any_ _woman on this lot is safe around me right now_ , Jax thought grimly as he put down his wrench on one of the worktables in the noisy bay. If any of the croweaters knew in just how desperate a state he was in, there was no chance he'd make it off the lot alive.

And for a brief moment, Jax was tempted to put the fact that he was open to considering propositions out there.

Generally speaking, Jackson Teller—a well-known hot head with a hair trigger temper—knew that he had a handle on his shit. When it came to SAMCRO, he had learned over the years how to react with his head and not his emotions and that kind of discipline wasn't always easy to achieve in this Life. Living the outlaw life came with many risks, but it also came with many advantages. Always a lover of the ladies, one of his favorite fringe benefits had always been the abundance of available pussy at the Clubhouse.

Like his brothers—and before Tara had returned to Charming—Jax believed that variety was the spice of life and had thoroughly enjoyed a safe, yet active sex life with many of the Club women. Jax had matured enough over the years to realize that he had used the croweaters to fill the void left by Tara when she left him when they were both nineteen. But now that she was back and they were supposedly building a life together, that void had somehow snuck back in.

 _Nearly three weeks out of prison and I can count the number of times my dick got wet with my old lady on one hand and still have fingers left over_ , he thought with some bitterness, knowing that he had seen more action in Stockton, courtesy of his own fuckin' hand.

Jax knew that sex wasn't everything when it came to relationships, but he did know that the frequency or lack thereof was a clear indicator of just how healthy a relationship was. And right now, sexually speaking, his relationship with Tara was dying of starvation. Because he was always at the ready, willing and able, Jax knew that fact wasn't entirely his fault.

Leaving the Fat Boy he was working on for now, Jax strolled out of the bay and headed towards the picnic table. Sitting down, he stretched his long legs wrapped in black denim jeans that rode low on his hips as he dug his pack of smokes from his work shirt pocket and quickly lit up. After spending several sleepless nights at the Clubhouse, tossing and turning, Jax had come close to breaking Tara's one cardinal rule: having sex with another woman.

Croweater or not, Jax sleeping with anyone but her was Tara's line in the sand—a "deal breaker" she called it. He had already done it once before by taking Ima the Porn Star into his bed in a misguided and knuckleheaded effort to protect Tara. At the time, she had been so emotionally invested in "them" that Jax knew the only way he would succeed in pushing Tara away from the dangers he exposed her to was by breaking her heart.

She had left him ten years before without provocation or warning and when loving Tara Knowles had been Jax's entire world. Even though it had become blatantly clear—even before Abel was kidnapped—that Tara was not happy in Charming, apparently, this time around, she needed a reason to leave, a reason to once again devastate his whole life. Well, if an out had been what his old lady needed, he had given it to her by fucking Ima. She should have taken it, but didn't. If she had, maybe by now Tara would be living the safe and normal life she seemed to crave only when she was in Charming. _Only_ when she was with him.

 _And she wouldn't have lost our baby_.

While in Stockton, Happy had cautioned him about keeping thoughts of his old lady and son in the rearview and after the attack, Jax had managed to do just that, keeping his mind focused and staying alive. Only at the end of each day, lying on his narrow bunk in the dark, did Jax allow his thoughts to linger on his family. There, in the relative safety of his cell and with Clay snoring softly from the top bunk, did Jax let himself wallow in the pain and guilt he felt as a result of the havoc his outlaw lifestyle had wreaked on his family. Because of the life he lived, he had denied Tara and himself the opportunity to have a beautiful child together. His guilt had nearly consumed him, yet that loss had also given him purpose and the desire to once and for all do something about the violent life he lived.

But things never really go the way you plan them, especially when your perspective changes once you're living life again on the outside. In Stockton, Jax had believed that he would be able to sacrifice his love for his Club to keep Tara happy. When confronted with the mess that his stepfather had created by brokering the deal with the Cartel, however, Jax knew he had no choice but to step up and do what he could to save his Club. He couldn't—wouldn't turn his back on the Club and let it die.

And that decision put him at odds with his old lady.

Jax couldn't help but feel a twinge of resentment because, once again, Tara believed that she was the only one suffering in this nightmare. Although she had finally acquiesced to his demands, Tara had found the surefire passive-aggressive way of showing just how disappointed and angry she was with him by putting her pussy on lock down.

Stubbing out his cigarette which he had smoked nearly to the butt, Jax lit another in frustration, the sting of rejection still smarting.

* * *

_**Tuesday, May 11, 2010: The Night Before** _

_Deciding he had spent enough time away from his home and old lady, Jax had closed the garage early. Pulling into the driveway, he parked his bike behind Tara's new Nissan Rouge_ _and, as he hung his helmet from the handlebars, noticed that most of the house was dim and wondered if anyone was even home. Entering the house, Jax made his way down the dark hallway to Abel's room, where he stopped to tuck his son's blankets around him before dropping a light kiss on his cool forehead. Although it was barely 8:00, Abel was fast asleep and Jax figured that was a good thing because he wanted his old lady all to himself tonight._

_Removing his kutte as he continued down the hall, Jax entered the master bedroom and hung it neatly on the chair by the door, somewhat surprised to find the room empty. Although he could see that the light from the en suite bathroom was on even though the door was closed, it was eerily quiet._

_Tapping lightly on the door, more to announce his presence than requesting permission to enter, Jax opened the door, releasing the steamy air and revealing Tara standing in front of the foggy mirror. She was freshly showered and wrapped in a fluffy white robe, her long, dark hair wet._

" _Hey," Jax said as he entered the bathroom._

" _Hey," came Tara's response._

_Jax frowned as Tara didn't turn around to face him. Instead, she picked up a hand towel to wipe down the mirror in front of her. Approaching her, Jax gently placed his hands on her shoulders, pulling her rigid back into his hard chest and kissed her on the neck right behind her ear. He instantly felt Tara tense underneath his touch._

_She let out what to Jax's ears sounded like a frustrated sigh._

" _It's been a long day, Jax," Tara said, shrugging her shoulders slightly in an effort to dislodge his hands that were steadily massaging her. Grabbing the wide-tooth comb from the vanity, she proceeded to untangle the knots in her hair. "And I'm getting ready for bed."_

" _I can see that, darlin'," Jax started, his voice low, sexy. "Let me take a quick shower and I'll join you." Meeting her gaze in the partially steamed mirror of the bathroom, Jax focused eyes that always seemed to darken deeply whenever he was aroused._

_Like now._

" _I'm tired, Jax," Tara whined, dropping the hand holding the comb to her side. "I was hoping to catch up on some sleep. I'm just so tired—"_

" _Yeah, Tara," Jax started irritably, his own hands falling away from her shoulders. "I think I heard you the first one hundred times you've used that excuse."_

_Tara's dark green eyes flashed angrily at him through the mirror. "It's not an excuse, Jax. I'm genuinely—"_

" _Yeah, yeah. Tired. I get it, a'ight?" Jax snapped. "You know, there used to be a time when neither of us was ever too tired for sex. I'm starting to develop a fuckin' complex here."_

_Jax watched as Tara took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Still refusing to turn around to face him directly, she reached for her toothbrush and toothpaste sitting on the counter. "There also used to be a time when I wasn't exhausted 24/7. Maybe you've forgotten, but I've been doing a lot of shit for a long time now, Jax. Between raising Abel, minding the garage and my own work at the hospital, my schedule and my life have been pretty hectic for the last fourteen months," she said evenly. "And now with the Club back and this new fuckin' deal with a goddamn Mexican cartel, I'm sure I'll be adding patching up cuts and digging bullets out of asses to my to-do list again." Tara finally turned around. "So maybe you can find it within yourself to cut me some slack here because I happen to be a little tired and don't feel like playing your whore for half the night."_

_Before Jax could open his mouth and lose his shit, a wailing cry echoed down the hall. Using his own son against him as a distraction, Tara had walked out of their bedroom to see to Abel, leaving Jax in the same state she had grown accustomed to leaving him in._

_Aroused, confused, needy and resentful._

* * *

It had been bad fuckin' timing all around. In hindsight, Jax realized that he probably should have given Tara a head's up about coming home last night, even though the thought of doing so made him feel like he had done something wrong. And on some level, Jax felt like he had because he knew Tara was justified in feeling the way she did. On the other hand, deep down, he also knew that much of what she had said had been more along the lines of bullshit excuses in order to hide the fact that she was pissed at him for nixing her "Get out of Charming" plan.

After all, Gemma had been taken off of house arrest six months into Jax's prison sentence and had been back at the lot working with Chucky to run the garage. And while it was true that she had been doing a lot in the way of looking after Abel, with Elyda picking up the slack now that Gemma was back at T-M, the amount of time that Tara spent with his son was relegated to a few hours after work. However, her final excuse—her duties as on-call doctor for the Club—was another matter altogether.

He knew Tara had always resented how much SAMCRO relied on her skills. The first time had been when they needed help in patching up the Club's RIRA contact Cameron Hayes, who after a bar shoot out intended to kill Clay, was in danger of bleeding out thanks to a bullet in the ass. Soon, it quickly morphed into Tara being their go-to whenever his brothers needed medical care. Jax knew that 99.9% of the time, Tara only made herself available to help because of him. As much as he wished he could lighten her load in that respect, when it came to his Club's well-being, that was one duty he wasn't going to let Tara shirk.

 _Especially since she's not even giving me head_.

Just then, Jax's attention was drawn across the lot to the attractive sight of a long-legged beauty making her way towards the Clubhouse.

Marlowe Guthrie had a long, loose stride that did nothing but showcase all her assets, of which there were many. Although she was more muscular than he was used to in a woman, there was nothing at all wrong with the package she presented. A casual beauty with seemingly no real fashion sense, as his mother would say, or any interest in slathering on pounds of make up like other women, she was comfortable and relaxed in her own skin and seemingly unaffected by the obvious effect she had on him.

 _She's looking a little militant right now_ , Jax thought, noting the irritation marring her pretty face and the angry twitch of her little apple butt as she strode into the Clubhouse, not even looking in his direction as she did so. Jax grinned to himself. _Shit! She could probably crack a walnut with that ass._

Jax stared long and hard at her retreating form. He was usually pretty good at guessing whether or not a woman was wearing underwear and was sure Marlowe was sporting a sexy thong. Finding himself practically panting like a dog in heat, Jax wondered if the temptation to push up on that was just a result of Tara's outright refusal to fuck him.

 _Okay, now that's total bullshit_ , Jax chastised himself.

Jax had to be honest with himself and admit that he probably wouldn't hesitate in tapping that ass if the opportunity ever presented itself, no matter what his situation with Tara. Whatever shit was going on between him and his old lady needed to come to a head and soon. The fact that he and Tara were seemingly on the outs only validated his current infatuation with Marlowe Guthrie. For the sake of their relationship, as well as his lonely dick, he needed Tara to get on board and take care of business as his old lady.

' _Cause if she won't, I'm sure I can convince Marlowe to._

* * *

Exiting the bathroom, Marlowe closed the door behind her and frowned as the familiar sounds of someone in distress amid a big commotion travelled its way down the hall towards the dorms.

 _What the fuck?_ she thought, her feet already propelling her forward as her heart started racing in her chest. Somehow she knew exactly what she was hearing. Someone in the Clubhouse was screaming in agony. The sound of extreme pain combined with sheer terror was, unfortunately, all too familiar to her.

Rounding the corner, Marlowe stopped dead in her tracks at the insane amount of blood she was seeing.

The scene before her was one of mass confusion as a crowd continued to gather around the burly ginger-haired mechanic she had seen earlier. He was clutching a mass of torn flesh to his chest. She quickly realized it was his hand and it was flowing blood freely from where his thumb used to be.

"Holy fuck," she murmured. Feeling the bile from her stomach well up in her throat, Marlowe made a great effort to swallow back her nausea.

 _Don't do this shit,_ she ordered herself. _Not now, grunt! Not now!_

Suddenly, a sense of calm flooded her veins. For the first time in almost two years, Marlowe found herself striding forward with purpose and into the swirling mass of humanity crowding around the injured man.

"Wade, mon, ya need to calm da fuck down," Chibs said loudly as he tried to make himself heard over the mechanics wails. "Brutha!" he yelled at Juice who was frantically digging through the small black bag containing the Club's only first aid kit. "Get me something to stop dis shite and quick! I think he nicked an artery!"

Knowing what that meant—that in mere minutes, the mechanic was in danger of bleeding out—Marlowe shoved her way through the crowd of horrified spectators and found herself at the Intel Officer's side.

"Get out of the fuckin' way," she ordered brusquely, snatching the bag out of the hands of an astonished Juice.

"Hey, girlie! What da hell are ye doin'?" Chibs started, but was quickly interrupted by Kozik.

"Move aside, brother. Let Doc do her thing," he said quickly as Chibs eyes widened. "Do it! She can help, trust me."

Not waiting for Chibs to acknowledge Kozik's command, Marlowe stepped up to the mechanic. "Hey! Look at me. I said look at me," she said in a calm voice as she snapped her fingers in front of the man's wild brown eyes, getting him to focus on hers. "I need you to stay calm, all right? You listening to me?"

The man nodded his head shakily despite the pain as he made an attempt to swallow back the sobs burning the back of his throat as tears ran down his face.

"Okay. Let's move him. You two," she motioned to the two largest men in the room. "Get over here and move him into that chair. Now!" Marlowe ordered, motioning to one of the tables, and watched as the large patch called Opie and the other, a massive Prospect named Filthy Phil, sprang into action. Grabbing the man underneath his arms, they quickly propelled him over to a chair. Following behind them, Marlowe dropped the first-aid kit on the table in front of him. Pawing through it, she retrieved a pair of surgical gloves and a tourniquet. Turning she found the Scotsman at her back. "Chibs, right?"

"Yes, luvie."

"Okay, Chibs. I need you to grab his arm firmly and holding it steady, lift it above his heart while I apply the tourniquet," she explained calmly.

"You got it," he replied as he carefully forced the injured man to release his arm and did as Marlowe instructed.

Addressing the mechanic, she asked, "What's your name, sweetie?"

"Uh, uh, Wade," he stammered, sweat dripping down his pale countenance.

"Wade, I know I'm asking for a lot right now, but I need you to calm down, okay? The more agitated you get, the quicker your heart is gonna pump that blood out of your body. You get what I'm saying?" she asked and Wade nodded quickly. "Good, so close your eyes and take really deep breaths, in through your nose and out through your mouth, okay? Focus on your breathing and not on the pain. It's gonna be okay," she assured him.

Quickly snapping on the gloves, Marlowe tied the tourniquet around the base of the hand, right above the torn flesh and immediately the blood gushing from the nicked artery started to slow down.

Chibs let out a huge sigh of relief. "Shite, it looks like it's working."

"It's doing exactly what it should be doing, handsome," Marlowe managed to grin wryly. "Now Wade, keep breathing evenly and hold your arm up high, okay?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Sweetie, now you know I'm too cute for you to call ma'am. It's either Marley or Marlowe," she smiled.

"Nah, Wade. Call her Doc," Tig said from behind her. She looked up to meet his eyes full of respect and nodded her appreciation.

"I guess that'll do, too," she said and turning her eyes to Tig's left, she met the gaze of a very stunned SAA.

* * *

Being that he wasn't much of a talker to begin with, saying that Happy Lowman had been struck speechless was a severe understatement. He had seen a lot of shit go down in his forty-plus years, but this shit right here had nearly knocked him on his ass and that was saying something.

Enjoying a leisurely smoke outside the bay he had been working in, Happy had been one of the first to respond to the mechanic's desperate wailing. The circular saw Wade had been using to cut a metal pipe had somehow slipped and severed his thumb and, Happy was sure, a small portion of his hand as well. Following Chibs' order to get him to the Clubhouse while he retrieved the first aid kit, Happy had half carried the man across the lot as evidenced by his blood-covered wife beater. He had been standing off to the side with a couple of brothers, making sure to stay out of the way unless he was needed, as Chibs tried in vain to calm down the injured man, only for Marlowe to walk into the room and take shit over.

Happy had been about to cut her off at the pass by telling her to go satisfy her morbid curiosity somewhere else when she beelined it right into the fray. Suddenly, Happy found his way blocked by Tig who had grabbed him by the arm. His brother getting grabby was one thing, but it was the words that next came out of his mouth that had stunned him even more.

"Bro, let Doc do her thing," Tig advised.

 _Doc?! Her thing?! Just who the fuck is 'Doc' and what exactly is 'her thing'?!_ Happy had wanted to ask, but instead, stood silently among his brothers and watched as Marlowe first calmed Wade down and then worked with unbelievable speed to stop the bleeding. His brain was having trouble processing what his eyes were seeing even though, on the surface, it seemed simple enough as Marlowe ripped open several packages of sterile bandages and started to dress the wound. He managed to tune out conversations going on around him as he zeroed in to what she was saying as she started shouting orders and asking questions.

"What the fuck happened?"

"He was using the circular saw," Lowell started explaining, swallowing the lump in his throat. "The pipe slipped out of his grip and the next thing I knew he was screaming and his thumb was on the ground."

"Speaking of the missing digit, anyone have it?" Marlowe asked the room in general. Everyone suddenly fell silent, the only sound being Wade performing deep breathing exercises. Marlowe noted with half a smile that concentrating on his breathing must have taken his mind off the pain as he was no longer moaning in agony. "Okay, I guess that's a no," she drawled as she allowed her eyes to search the room. "You," she said as her heather grey eyes latched onto a body, her hands still working on bandaging the wound.

"Who? _Me_?" Ratboy nearly swallowed his tongue.

"Yeah, you. What's your name?"

"Uh, Ratboy," he supplied.

Marlowe raised an eyebrow. "I guess it's better than Cockroach, huh? Look, Ratboy, you afraid of a dead thumb?"

Ratboy swallowed hard enough for it to be audible. "Shit no," he blustered.

"Good. Slap on your listening ears 'cause I'm only saying this once. Get it wrong and I'll amputate _your_ thumb, got it?" her tone was brisk as she worked on her patient.

"Yes, ma—I mean, Doc."

"Take a pair of surgical gloves from that bag and some sterile pads," she started, nodding at the open kit on the table. "Go to the kitchen and get one of those glass jars sitting on the shelf above the counter. Rinse it out using hot water, but fill it up halfway with _cold_ water and add four ice cubes. Next, grab a Ziploc baggie from the drawer by the sink and haul ass to the garage. Put on the gloves and then use the sterile pad to carefully retrieve Wade's thumb. Place it in the baggie and zip it, sealing it tight, but make sure to leave a pocket of air inside. Following so far?"

Ratboy nodded.

"Then you're gonna put the baggie in the jar, but don't let the thumb come into direct contact with the ice and then haul ass back here. After that, your only job is to guard that jar with your life, you get me?" she ordered.

"I get you."

"Okay, so go," Marlowe commanded, shaking her head wryly as the Prospect stood rooted to the floor, a deer-caught-in-the-headlights expression on his face. "Like _now_ would be a really good time!" she barked with some exasperation as Ratboy finally took off. Happy watched as Marlowe used her forearm to wipe the sweat from her face before opening her mouth again. "Please tell me someone called for an ambulance."

"Yes, sir—ma'am! I mean Doc," Filthy Phil replied nonsensically. "I called about five minutes ago."

"What then? Did they get lost? How big is this fuckin' town anyways?" she muttered aloud only to hear the sound of a siren. "About damn time." Paying little attention to her blood spattered clothing, Marlowe crouched in front of the man. "How you hanging, Wade?"

"Barely, Doc. The breathing stopped working. I'm—I'm in a lot of pain."

"I'm sorry about that, but we're gonna get you fixed up in no time," she promised and stood up as two EMT workers rushed into the Clubhouse with a stretcher. "Just hang in there for me, alright?" She smiled as Wade gave her a slight nod.

The quick conversation between Marlowe and the EMTs as they worked on Wade was a blur of medical jargon to Happy and everyone else standing around the Main Room. As fixated as he was on Marlowe, he started sharply as a deep voice standing right next to him invaded his thoughts.

"Shit, bro, those are some mighty impressive skills your Ma's caregiver has there," Jax said quietly. "She medically trained?"

Happy shook his head, his eyes never leaving Marlowe. "I don't know, brother," he admitted as Opie, standing on the other side of Happy, frowned.

Watching silently as the EMTs moved Wade onto the stretcher, Jax approached the group, placing a hand on the mechanic's shoulder. "Don't worry about a thing, man. I'm sure St. Thomas will get you all patched up."

Wade nodded, but his eyes were filled with tears, pain and worry. "I don't know, Jax. What if they can't reattach my thumb? What am I gonna do? And my insurance ain't that great—"

"I said, don't worry about a thing, man," Jax said quietly. "T-M's got you covered." Standing between Wade on the stretcher and Jax, Marlowe turned her head towards the Club Pres, giving him a slight nod as a small smile formed on her lips. Jax returned the smile and gave her a wink for good measure.

_He may be a flirty motherfucker, but he's not too bad of a boss either._

"Okay," the EMT worker said briskly. "Let's get him loaded up."

"I'm coming with," Marlowe announced.

Jax eyed her skeptically. "You're going to the hospital with Wade?"

"Of course," Marlowe said calmly as she stripped off her bloody gloves and grabbing Juice's hand slapped them into his. "I'll stick with Wade until his girlfriend shows up. It'll also give me some time to spend with Happy's mom."

"Jax," Chibs interjected. "I'll go with the lass, too."

Grabbing her backpack and jacket that were lying on the couch, she eyed Happy. "I'll be late, but I can make my own way back." Without further comment, she and Chibs followed behind Wade and the EMTs, with Marlowe stopping only long enough to grab the jar from Ratboy.

With a crowd gathered in the parking lot, Wade was loaded into the ambulance, followed by Marlowe and one of the paramedics before the doors slammed. As Chibs on his ride and the ambulance peeled out of the lot, its siren wailing in the distance, Jax turned to face Happy.

"Bro, I think we need to talk," he said to his SAA before heading back inside.


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sons of Anarchy. I do, however, own Marlowe and any other OCs that appear in the 2 Sons Universe.**

* * *

_**Wednesday, May 12, 2010** _

Entering the Chapel last, Happy quickly noted that his "talk" with the President wouldn't be a private one as Jax wasn't alone at the table. Not only had Opie joined him inside, but so had Tig and Kozik. Closing the door behind the few hang-arounds still lingering in the Clubhouse, Happy took his seat next to Jax, who focused a pair of speculative eyes on his brother.

"Accidents happen all the time in the garage," Jax proffered as an opener, "but lucky for Wade there was someone on the lot today that knew what they were doing. Anything you want to share about your _friend_ , Hap?"

"You mean aside from the fact that I'd like to wring her fuckin' neck right about now?" the SAA replied irritably, causing Jax to narrow his eyes in contemplation of Happy's current mood.

"Aw come on, Hap," Kozik interrupted. "You gotta admit, Doc did a great job, bro."

"No doubt," Opie interjected. "We're all just a little surprised and wondering how that shit came about," he continued as he eyed Happy. "Mind sharing?"

"Share what, brother?" Happy scoffed. "I don't know shit."

"I know you, Hap," Jax started. "There's no way you would bring an outsider into the Clubhouse without having some idea of who she is. You told me she's your mom's caregiver. I thought that meant cleaning bed pans and vomit duty, shit like that—"

"She knows a hell of a lot more shit than that," Tig interrupted, tapping his cigarette on the edge of the ashtray in front of him, knocking off ash and embers.

"Yeah, I got that, Tiggy," Jax retorted, his eyes still on Happy. "I'm sorry if I'm crossing the line here, brother, but with all this angst rolling off of you right now, I'm sensing that she might mean more to you than just the help," he continued cagily as a sudden and surprisingly unpleasant thought occurred to him. "You hitting that, bro?"

Happy's eyes widened to the size of cue balls. "FUCK NO!" he hollered before inhaling and exhaling hard to rein in his temper. "She's my little sister," he mumbled under his breath.

"What? I didn't catch that," Jax said perplexed.

"Marley is Hap's sister," Kozik reiterated and watched with interest as his President's eyes widened with speculation.

Cocking his head towards Kozik, Jax directed his question at his SAA. "Is he serious?"

Happy realized that in spite of being somewhat private when it came to his family, he was now going to have to come clean about Marlowe. It was becoming clear that if he had wanted to keep her connection to him off of everyone's radar, bringing her to Charming had been a bad way to do it. With her in town for only a few months while looking after his mother, he had hoped that her anti-social tendencies would prevent anyone from getting too close. It was obvious that he had woefully misjudged not only Marlowe but his brothers as well. She was no longer the gangly and moody Goth loner he remembered when she was a teenager. If he had only seen her through his brothers' eyes prior to bringing her to Charming, Happy would have known that there was a lot to attract their attention.

No longer gangly or awkward in her own skin, Marlowe was a confident young woman and a beauty, just like her mother had been. She was also a woman of substance, as she had seemingly proved this afternoon right before his own eyes. Seeing her jump into the fray to render first aid to an injured mechanic, and to see her do it with such calm and authority, had shocked Happy to his core—something that may not have happened had he taken the time to get reacquainted with his little sister once she had come back home. Now he was being made to feel like an ass in front of his Club by being called out on the carpet for hiding shit he had no clue about himself.

"Yeah, Koz is right, but she technically ain't my sister—that is, there's no blood connection," Happy explained. "She's just a kid from the neighborhood my Ma ended up raising to keep her out of trouble."

"She joined the Navy straight out of high school," Kozik interjected helpfully. "She got out just before you guys went into Stockton and stuck around to take care of Hap's mom while he was inside."

Happy shook his head at Kozik. "You're just all up in my shit, ain'tcha?" he growled.

"Hey, don't hate just cuz what happened today took ya by surprise," Kozik shot back. "You'd be surprised by what you'd know about your little sister if you hadn't stopped talking to her ten years ago."

"Wait a minute," Jax smirked. "You mean you haven't spoken to your kid sister in ten fuckin' years?"

"Marley's a bit of a pain in the ass. _Loves_ doing shit just to get under my skin. I told her joining up wasn't a good idea for her, but she didn't want to hear that shit, especially not coming from me," Happy replied in an argumentative tone.

"Looks like you made the wrong call, brother," Tig stated. "From what I saw out there, she handled her shit just fine. Any squid that can tough it out like a Marine is a big fuckin' deal in my book."

"Hell's yeah. Doc even served in me and Tig's old unit," Kozik said with some excitement. "Ain't that the shit?"

"That little girl is a tough motherfucker," Tig agreed. "The one-five has seen some heavy action in Afghanistan. You have to be tough as nails to survive that shit."

"How the fuck would you know?" Happy asked irritably.

"Hey, I'm educated," Tig said insisted. "I read _a_ _nd_ I watch Fox Evening News. I keep up with shit."

Jax decided to interrupt before the conversation totally veered off topic by Happy throwing a punch or two. "So she does first aid and shit?"

"It's way more than that, Jax," Kozik replied. "She's a Hospital Corpsman. The Marines don't have their own medic corps, so they rely on Corpsman from the Navy to take care of them medically, training them to watch their backs as well. A good Corpsman is like solid gold, man. Definitely worth their fuckin' weight."

"Corpsman ain't lightweights, but Doc was also part of the Fleet Marine Force," Tig interjected, but Jax shook his head as if to say he didn't know what that meant. "After basic and medical training, Doc went through boot camp again with the Corps where they make Corpsman earn the privilege of serving with the Marines. It's a big fuckin' deal for a squid to get an FMF rating and for a broad it's almost impossible," he explained.

"Yeah," Kozik agreed. "Doc's only the second female in the one-five's history to get it."

"No doubt she earned that shit with blood, sweat and tears. You can't hack it or you don't earn the battalion's trust, you might as well shoot yourself in the fuckin' head or they'll do it for you," Tig added.

"Hey, just like us," Opie inserted, inspiring a rumble of laughter around the table.

"She's the real thing, bro. Doc's proven herself and shit. Have you noticed the guns on that bitch?" Tig exclaimed. Taking in Happy's heated expression, the former SAA held up his hands in apology. "Sorry, Hap, just calling it like I sees it. Your little sis is fuckin' built."

"She needed those guns, lugging around as much as 70, even 100 pounds of medical equipment and weaponry on her back for days at a time. A Corpsman is trained in everything from basic healthcare to first aid, even surgery, including amputations. And she was trained to be able to do it all while under fire. That's why she was so calm and moved in so quickly to take care of Wade. She can probably do all that shit in her sleep," Kozik said as he knocked back the contents of his whiskey glass.

Jax looked at Kozik with a furrowed brow. "I think I'm with Hap on this. Just how the fuck _are_ you all up in his shit?"

Kozik shrugged his shoulders. "Happy tasked me to look out for her whenever he's out of town. Marley, Tig and me got to talking the other night and we swapped some crazy stories, man."

"Sure did," Tig agreed. "That broad has seen some serious action."

Happy just sat there, gritting his teeth, bitter about hearing all of this information about _his sister_ for the first time through third parties. He knew he had no one to blame but himself. It still didn't stop him, however, from irrationally wanting to punch holes in both Kozik and Tig for getting to bond with Marlowe in a way he never really could. In Happy's mind, even though Marlowe was in her late-20s, she was still the little girl he had reluctantly taken under his wing and promised to always protect.

Despite knowing that Marlowe would always end up doing exactly what Marlowe wanted to do anyway, Happy couldn't help but feel as if he had let that little girl down by _letting_ her join the Navy. He had spent the last ten years angry—pissed off, really—at that little girl for not letting him take care of her. Now, he was feeling somewhat humbled by the fact that she hadn't needed his protection. Realizing that the pain-in-the-ass little girl forever nipping at his heels had grown into some badass G.I. Jane that had thoroughly impressed his brethren, Happy had to admit to himself that he felt a tiny measure of pride in Marlowe's accomplishments.

One of Happy's brothers in particular found himself more enthralled with the young woman than any of the others. While the conversation continued to bounce around the room, Jax sat quietly contemplating his first and then subsequent talk with Marlowe while mulling over the information he had just been given. He should have recognized that haunted look in her beautiful gray eyes. After all, he had grown up in a Clubhouse full of war veterans and he had come to know that look well. He even remembered seeing it in his own father's eyes.

 _I guess I was way the fuck off base hinting at her being a stripper_ , he thought with some amusement.

Despite the "I really don't give a fuck" attitude that Marlowe seemed to wear like a fuckin' Badge of Honor, Jax couldn't help but be totally impressed by her. It was one thing to judge her by the packaging, which he liked very much. But considering what he had come to learn about her background, he was now more than a little intrigued by the strangely beautiful young woman.

All that aside, Jax always had a knack for looking at the bigger picture and for recognizing talent and skill. Quickly weighing the pros and cons of the matter and realizing that a woman used to the stress of being under fire while still handling her shit would be an asset to SAMCRO, Jax came to a rapid conclusion.

"Hap, I have a proposition for your little sister."

* * *

Walking onto the lot through the still-open gate, Marlowe sighed out of pure exhaustion as she made her way towards the Clubhouse, barely noticing the long line of Harleys parked outside. At the moment, she was experiencing tunnel vision. All she could see, all she wanted and probably all she had energy for was a long shower and some sleep.

 _As tired as I am, I might actually get some tonight_.

Functioning on very little sleep to begin with, the sudden adrenaline rush she had experienced while helping Wade had left her drained both physically and mentally as soon as they had arrived at the hospital. Turning the jar holding the severed digit over to a surgical resident for examination, Marlowe had found herself pulled into a series of discussions with the emergency room staff as doctors examined Wade and nurses prepped him for surgery.

Wade's longtime girlfriend Nina had come rushing from her job in Lodi to be by her man's side and managed to see him briefly before he was wheeled into the operating room. Along with Chibs, Marlowe stayed in the waiting room to support a distraught Nina through Wade's surgery. To break up the monotony of sitting around waiting for word on the outcome, Marlowe had left Chibs behind with the girlfriend in order to spend some time with Amelia. Luckily, one of the nurses had offered her and Chibs scrub tops so that they could change out of their bloody clothing. As a result, other than a quirked eyebrow at the sight of her strange ensemble, Amelia made no comment and invited Marlowe to watch a Spanish novella playing on the flat screen in her room for a little while.

After the four-hour surgery was over, the doctor gave Nina the good news that they were able to reattach Wade's thumb. He was currently in post-op recovery where he would remain for a few hours before being moved to a room. By then it would be too late for Wade to receive any visitors, so after Nina was allowed a five-minute visit with him in the recovery room, Marlowe insisted that Chibs escort her home.

"Okay, luvie. It'll take about twenty minutes or so to see 'er home. Then I'll swing by and pick ya up," Chibs insisted, his Scottish accent rolling together in an almost unintelligible sort of music that she barely understood.

Shaking her head, Marlowe declined the offer. "Thank you, but I can use the walk back to clear my head." It had taken another five minutes before Marlowe was finally able to convince Chibs that she would be all right on her own.

"I don't doubt tha', sweetheart," the words rolled off his tongue. Walking away, the patch suddenly stopped and turned back. "Ya did a fine job today, lass, that ya did," Chibs said, patting her heartily on her shoulder before leaving with Nina.

Only when the pair had disappeared down the hall and around the corner did Marlowe finally allow herself to lean against the wall, letting herself slide down slowly until she was resting her ass on her haunches. Not the worse ordeal she had ever dealt with, but she was glad it was finally over just the same. She laid her head against the wall, closing her eyes. She must have drifted off because about twenty minutes later, her eyes opened with a start. Lifting herself upright, Marlowe had made her way to Amelia's room to say goodnight. Sneaking past the Nurses station, she poked her head inside and found her fast asleep, snoring loud enough to wake the dead. Closing the door behind her, she slowly made her way downstairs and out of the hospital.

With no moon glowing in the clear sky, Marlowe only had random street lamps and the headlights of an occasional car passing her by to light her path. The long walk home in the dark put her in a reflective mood as she meandered her way through Charming. As tired as she was, Marlowe was in no rush to get back to T-M. After the show she had put on that afternoon in the Clubhouse, including bossing around several patches, she was sure some ass reaming or another was waiting for her return.

She had probably twisted some outlaw biker noses out of joint today. Marlowe had grown accustomed, however, to tweaking and maybe even bruising some macho egos during her time with the Marines, so she couldn't honestly say that she gave a shit one way or another. All she had done was what needed to get done and she would never apologize for helping out another fellow human being.

 _Once a Corpsman, always a Corpsman_ , Marlowe reasoned with herself.

Remembering the stunned look of disbelief on Happy's face, Marlowe winced to herself in the darkness. With her hands tucked into the pockets of her denim jacket, she slowed her long gait down to a crawl once she realized he was probably waiting for her. She loved her Tía like a mother, but the woman had the ability to make her grind her teeth in frustration with how right she _always_ was. In recent months, Marlowe had developed a newfound appreciation for Ceci, realizing her contradictory disposition with her sister probably stemmed from the fact that she too was tired of Amelia being right all the fuckin' time.

Months before his release from Stockton, Amelia had tried pushing Marlowe to visit Happy. They needed to heal the ten-year breach between them, she insisted and advised Marlowe to fill Happy in on _everything_ she had experienced since leaving Bakersfield for the Navy. The good, the bad, and the whole lotta ugly. Hindsight was indeed twenty-twenty, Marlowe realized only about six months too late and on her walk back from St. Thomas. Happy deserved to hear the truth face-to-face and straight from her. During his lock-up would have been the perfect time too, unless Hap had no problem adding to his sentence by strangling her right then and there in the Visitor's Room.

After Wade's accident and her response, she knew questions would arise between her and Hap. Telling him about her career as a Corpsman would be the easy part, the part she was most proud of. Everything else—from her PTSD to where she had ended up—would be much harder to share. She was already a disappointment in his eyes for joining up in the first place. The last thing she wanted to do was add more fuel to his fire.

Looking at her watch and noting the time—22:24—Marlowe realized that it was nowhere near what any self-respecting biker would call late. Her only hope was that, as usual, SAMCRO was too busy either getting drunk or laid or both to notice her return. Before entering the Clubhouse, she promised herself to seek Happy out first thing in the morning so they could sit down and talk like two adults.

Unfortunately, no good deed ever goes unpunished. And too bad for Marlowe, that was one lesson she had yet to learn.

* * *

Walking into the Clubhouse, Marlowe hadn't expected to find it as deserted as a ghost town. And she most definitely hadn't been expecting to find Happy sitting on _her_ couch mean-mugging her the minute she came into view. That look, which she had seen many times before, was classic Happy Lowman. Meant to scare the living piss out of you, it was a clear indicator that shit was on and, if she had any sense, she would hightail it out of the building and go hide under a car. And if she were ten years old, that's exactly what she would have done.

 _But I'm not ten_ , Marlowe scolded herself. _What I am is tired and cranky and unwilling to put up with any bullshit right now._

Before she could open her mouth, Happy stood up abruptly. Pointing a finger at the closed Chapel doors, he barked, "You! Inside, now!"

Marlowe was unmoved and stood her ground, her face a mask of sheer boredom. "I'm not going any—"

In what seemed like three long strides, Happy was towering over her. "Finish that sentence and I'm dragging your ass in there," he threatened.

Glaring back at him, Marlowe was prepared to tell him to fuck off when she remembered the promise she had made to herself not sixty-seconds ago to sit down and talk with Hap like two adults. Realizing that Happy wasn't about to back off about wanting to discuss shit now, Marlowe rolled her eyes. Refusing to be intimidated, thus giving him control over the conversation, she straightened her back, allowing a mantle of confidence and authority to settle over her shoulders. Heading to the Chapel, Marlowe found it strange that he had "invited" her to invade the all-male sanctuary when they could have this conversation with just as much privacy in the dorm.

Entering the room for the first time since setting foot in Charming, her eyes widened slightly as they made contact with Jax Teller's. He was sitting at the head of the table with his VP, the bearded Redwood everyone called "Opie", on his left and Kozik and Tig in their respective seats. "Escorting" her into the room with a light shove, Happy closed the door behind them.

Jax was leaning back in his chair, his arm resting casually on the armrest as he smoked a cigarette. He didn't say a word. His eyes, however, spoke volumes to Marlowe as he let them roam over her, finally stopping their assessment as they made eye contact once again. Taking a drag from his smoke, Jax smirked to himself, noting that Marlowe seemed unaffected by his open appraisal of her. She was standing ramrod-straight, her combat-booted feet shoulder-width apart, and her hands clasped behind her back. She looked like a soldier at ease.

"I should have known after the first time we spoke that you were different," Jax said to Marlowe as if they were the only two people in the room.

"Yeah, you should have," Marlowe replied laconically. "After all, I do remember telling you that I wasn't a stripper."

 _What the fuck_? Happy thought as he gave his sister the hairy eyeball.

"Not all the hang-arounds are strippers, you know," Jax teased.

"I know. Some of them are porn stars, too," Marlowe smirked.

Jax chuckled before taking another drag from his cigarette and flicking the ashes into the ashtray on the table between him and Opie. With a smile still on his handsome face, Jax said soberly, "That was some pretty impressive shit you pulled off out there today. Thank you."

Marlowe raised a surprised eyebrow. _Not at all what I was expecting, but I'll sure as shit take it_.

Allowing herself a slight smile, she nodded. "You're welcome. I'm just glad I was here to help," she replied, just as soberly.

"I understand from my brothers here," Jax started, indicating Kozik and Tig, "that you received your medical training in the Navy and served with the Marines on _three_ tours of duty. Sounds like you went through some shit."

Inwardly wincing, Marlowe took a deep breath and nodded, not eager to volunteer information until she knew where this conversation was going.

"So you did ten years of active duty?" Opie asked, all the hair on his face making it hard for Marlowe to tell if his lips had actually moved.

"Something like that," Marlowe replied cautiously.

Jax quirked an eyebrow at her. "Care to elaborate?"

"Care to tell me what all this is about?" Marlowe countered.

"Jesus Christ, Marlowe! Just answer the fuckin' question," Happy groused.

No longer at ease, Marlowe straightened up and turned to look at Happy. Before she could open her mouth—and possibly have it shut for her by one of Happy's large hands—Jax spoke up.

"Hap told us that you've hit on some hard times recently. No job, no money, and no car. The Club needs someone with medical experience on board and available when needed. Kozik and Tig seem to think you qualify and we're willing to pay you, but I need more information. Is that enough?"

Announcing his scheme earlier to hire Marlowe to handle the Club's medical needs going forward had come as a complete surprise to his brothers. As Jax listened to Kozik and Tig singing Marlowe's praises, however, it dawned on him that having her around would kill two birds with one stone. With Tara distancing herself from him physically as well as emotionally, Jax knew it was only a matter of time before she would put her foot down and refuse to fulfill her role as Club doctor. It was becoming increasingly clear to Jax that the pressures of Club life were getting to Tara. She had already distanced herself from the Clubhouse, only coming to the lot whenever she needed to see Gemma, confining her visits to the office and garage.

Somewhere along the way—since their explosive argument over the Cartel deal and its impact on their plans, as a matter of fact—it had dawned on Jax that Tara was living with one foot out the door. Whether or not she stayed with him depended on whether or not they stayed in Charming. Jax hoped that by having Marlowe take over her responsibilities as the Club's medic, Tara would see that she could have a life in Charming that was unaffected by SAMCRO. It was a long shot, but at the very least it would show Tara that he was genuinely concerned about her welfare.

The fact that he also wanted to keep Marlowe in his orbit in case the chance to fuck her into unconsciousness ever presented itself had absolutely nothing at all to do with the scheme. At least that's what Jax told himself.

Considering that Marlowe had military training and had survived three tours left no doubt in his mind that she could handle her shit, so the arrangement made sense to him as being good for all concerned. A genuine no-brainer. Therefore, Jax was nonplussed by Marlowe's reply to his job offer.

"Thank you. That's all I needed to know," Marlowe said, "but I'm not interested."

Happy started muttering angrily under his breath, causing Jax and Opie to exchange a look before Opie's shoulders started bouncing with silent laughter. "It's only patch up work, Marlowe," Happy growled. "It's not like you don't spend enough time hanging around the Clubhouse anyway. Make yourself useful while you're here."

Marlowe put a hand on a cocked hip and gave Happy a look hot enough to melt wax. "You have some fuckin' nerve telling me to make myself useful. In case you forgot, asshole, I'm just here to take care of Amelia and after she's fully recovered, we're going back to Bakersfield," Marlowe insisted, yet again forgetting herself in front of Happy's brothers.

"I don't know how you plan on getting there, bitch," Happy barked, suddenly also oblivious to the patches sitting around the Redwood table. "The alternator on your cage is shot and the engine's next to go."

Marlowe narrowed her eyes at Happy. "You said you'd have it fixed by Friday," she sputtered.

"I would have said anything to shut you the fuck up!" Happy snapped.

"Obviously! Like claiming to be a mechanic!" Marlowe shot back.

"Hey! I'm a fuckin' awesome mechanic," Happy countered. "What I ain't is a fuckin' magician!"

Pounding the gavel on the table, Jax was finally able to get the battling pair's attention. "We're good," he declared.

"Not really," Marlowe glared at Happy.

"I wasn't asking, darlin'," Jax said, earning himself a little residual heat in the look she flashed him. "Look, the way I see this, unless you have another job in Charming, it makes sense to take this opportunity to earn yourself some cash. I'll even get ya your own room here at the Clubhouse so you can stop crashing on the couch. You'd be close to Happy's mom and if you can't help us out medically, we can always find something else for you to do that'll earn you a salary."

"Dondo's always lookin' for new porn stars," Happy volunteered smugly.

"I know. I'm still waiting to hear back about my audition," Marlowe replied sarcastically, catching Happy off guard. Giving her brother a cheeky smile, she turned her attention back to Jax. "Considering that this is a 'motorcycle club', I'm gonna take a giant leap here and assume you need someone who knows more than just how to administer flu shots, right?"

Jax nodded. "Yep."

Marlowe asked herself what the fuck she was doing. The last thing she really needed was to take on the responsibilities of medic for an outlaw MC. Who knew what kind of shit they were involved in and what kind of impact it would have on her and all the baggage she was dealing with. She had to admit to herself, however, that a part of her couldn't help but be intrigued. Despite the initial shock of being confronted by an injured Wade, once she involved herself in the situation, it felt really good to be of use to someone again.

"Like what?" she asked.

"Bullet wounds. Stab wounds. Broken bones," Jax offered as Marlowe nodded.

 _That doesn't sound so bad,_ she thought.

Seeing that he had piqued her interest, the SAMCRO Pres tossed a small pad and pen across the table towards her. "We're gonna need your social security number and any aliases you may be known under."

"What for?" Marlowe narrowed her eyes.

"Background check," Opie answered. "We know you're Hap's sister and he has vouched for you, but we still need to be careful. I'm sure you get that shit."

 _If that's not the pot calling the kettle black_ , Marlowe chuckled to herself bitterly _._

"Am I gonna have to take a piss test, too?" she said, sarcasm heavy in her voice.

"Maybe," Jax smiled before throwing her a barely perceptible wink.

Marlowe bit her lip in contemplation. "Can I talk to you, please?" she directed at Jax. "In private?"

Jax was back to appraising her in a way that should have made her uncomfortable, but didn't. "Sure thing, darlin'."

Waiting until his brothers vacated the room, with Hap looking like he was thinking twice about leaving them alone, Jax offered Marlowe Happy's seat. Already dreading disappointment and not sure why, Jax watched as Marlowe sat down and grabbed the pad and pen. She quickly jotted down her full name and social security number and pushed the pad back towards him.

"I think that's all you'll need for the background check. I don't have any aliases," Marlowe said quietly. "Before you run it, though, I want to explain some things that I'm sure are gonna hit your radar when you do." Shifting in her seat, she leaned forward on the table with her hands clasped in front of her. Jax, his eyes never leaving her face, waited for her to continue. "Everything Kozik and Tig shared with you about me is true. I was a Hospital Corpsman in the Navy and only the second woman ever to achieve a FMF rating. I served three tours in Afghanistan with the Marine Corps as a Combat Medic," she explained, already starting to feel a little sick to her stomach. The only person she had shared the whole story with had been Amelia.

Jax felt the corners of his mouth threatening to curl up into a smile. "So, are you a doctor? Kozik and Tig called you 'Doc' a couple of times."

Marlowe shook her head. "No, I'm not a doctor. I am proud to say, however, that I earned that nickname by earning the respect of the battalion I served with and that means more to me than a medical degree ever could," she paused, looking Jax in the eye. "I had a stellar career in the Navy. I loved what I did more than anything else I've ever done—aside from drawing."

Jax smiled, remembering the exact replica of JT's bike she had drawn and given to him. The effect of that smile almost stopped Marlowe's heart in her chest. _He has kind eyes_ , Marlowe thought and, before she could stop herself, she found herself sharing the details of her downfall with the SAMCRO President.

Instead of exercising his poker face, Jax found himself drawn in by Marlowe's story, his emotions playing across his handsome features unchecked. As she spoke, Marlowe saw sympathy, righteous anger on her behalf and, most important of all, understanding.

"So you did time in a military prison?" Jax asked with a hint of admiration in his voice. "Must have been tough."

Marlowe shrugged her shoulders. "Compared to Marine training? Nah, I did my time standing on my head," she said and Jax laughed.

"You had nothing to do with the actual incident. Nine months is kinda harsh, don'tcha think?" Jax noted.

"At best, I was looking at eighteen months and anything over a year would have netted me a dishonorable discharge," Marlowe replied. "I lucked out with the best defense Uncle Sam was willing to pay for. My attorney negotiated a deal for nine months of confinement and eighteen months forfeiture of two-thirds of my pay. Unfortunately, losing rank and my FMF rating were non-negotiable, but breaking the chain of command is a serious violation and I was guilty. They were looking to make an example out of me, so I'm lucky I wasn't charged with treason. That would have been harsh."

"Yeah, it would have," Jax agreed dumbfounded. "Isn't the punishment for treason—"

"Death? Yeah, it can be. But let me be clear," Marlowe stated. "I was neither guilty of nor was I charged with treason. I may have acted stupidly and made a bad call, but I'm no traitor."

Jax looked at her for a long time. "Happy know any of this?"

Marlowe shook her head. "No, but his mom does. She's the only other person I've told until just now."

"I understand why you'd tell her, she's like your mom, but why did you tell me?" he queried, more than a little curious.

"You offered me a job."

"Which you turned down."

"But which I have now reconsidered after providing you with full disclosure," Marlowe smiled. "That is, if you still want me."

Jax bit his lip in an effort to keep from smiling and failed miserably. "Let there be no doubt, darlin'. I still want ya."

"For the _job_ ," Marlowe emphasized with a knowing smile.

Jax laughed. "For that too."

"Good, because I think I could be of some use to the Club," Marlowe responded confidently. "But just so we're clear, the reason I'm in Charming at all is Amelia Lowman. Happy brought her here to keep an eye on her, but with him on the road much of the time, I'm here to support him. Right now, though, I don't see how that's possible once she's moved to the rehab in Modesto without a car."

Jax shook his head slightly as he lit another cigarette. "That's not a problem, darlin'. Barring any emergencies, I'm sure you'll be able to balance taking care of Hap's mom and your responsibilities to the Club. As far as a ride goes, I can hook you up with something until your own piece of shit gets fixed and as promised, I'll get one of the croweaters to clear out a dorm and get it ready for you. Anything else you need to share?"

"No, I told you everything," Marlowe replied honestly. "I need you to do me a favor, though."

"If it's in within my power, darlin'," Jax smiled. "Anything you need me to do will be my pleasure."

Marlowe lifted an eyebrow, making a mental note to remember that. After all, she was a woman with eyes and a sex-starved libido. "What we just discussed, and anything that may come up in your background check, I'd appreciate it if you could keep it to yourself for now. Happy doesn't know any of it and when he does hear about it, he deserves to hear it from me. Agreed?"

"Absolutely," Jax replied. "You've got my word."

_Somehow, something tells me that Marlowe is gonna fit in around here just fine._

* * *

Closing the Chapel door behind her, Marlowe quickly made her way to Happy's dorm. After the debriefing she had just endured and with the Clubhouse now empty, she was really looking forward to a shower and her couch. But swinging the door open, Marlowe was confronted by the reason why it was going to be a minute before she got either.

Happy was stretched out on his bed, smoking a cigarette as he aimlessly flipped through one of the biker skin mags he kept in his room. "About fuckin' time," he growled as he tossed it aside and stood up. Happy had been waiting for almost an hour for Marlowe to wrap up her "private" talk with Jax, his anger and resentment growing steadily as the minutes ticked by.

However, before he could open his mouth to take a chunk out of her ass, Marlowe put up a hand. "Don't even, Hap," she said in a hard, no-nonsense tone. "I mean it this time. I let you drag me into the Chapel, but right now I am not in the fuckin' mood for your bullshit."

"I don't give a fuck what mood you're in, so put a leash on that PMS shit 'cause we're having this out. _Right now_."

Marlowe looked up at her brother and seeing the implacable look etched on his face, suddenly realized that she didn't give a fuck. "No, we're not," she said coldly. "What is happening is that I'm going into that bathroom," she pointed at the door, "and I am taking a long, hot shower and then I'm going to get some sleep. And you're gonna stay out of my way," she tossed over her shoulder as she headed towards the bathroom. "I didn't spend the last ten years dodging bullets and sidestepping IEDs just to come back home and take shit from you. I am not that poor, pathetic little girl who used to run after you, begging for scraps of affection. We'll settle this shit between us, but only when _I'm_ good and damn ready," Marlowe raged at a stunned speechless Happy before slamming the door shut.

Stripping off her clothes, she hastily turned on the shower, hoping that the noise of the spray would drown out the sounds of her muffled sobs.

* * *

Striding towards his bike, Happy knew that he would probably spend the rest of the night on his ride. It was the only thing that ever really calmed him down when all he wanted was to make someone bleed. Right now, as waves of anger washed over him—as they usually did whenever he let his mind wander to thoughts of Marlowe—he knew that putting distance between them was the way to go.

 _Begging for scraps of affection from you_.

Those words had hit him right in the middle of his chest and only because, on some level, Marlowe had been right. He had removed the young girl from the rat-infested hellhole her mother had condemned her to and in her eyes, Happy had become her savior and hero. He then proceeded to pawn her off on his mother, making rare visits to Bakersfield only because he really had no clue how to interact with little girls and the last thing he wanted to do was something stupid that would spoil his rock star image in the eyes of one young girl in particular.

Although he would never admit it out loud, Marlowe's opinion of him had always meant a lot to him. It humbled him and reminded him that, in spite of all he had done and seen, he was still human. So he was more than a little blindsided when he realized that his opinion held no weight with the stubborn young woman she had grown into.

That alone had fueled his anger for the last ten years. Not only had she gone against his advice, but she didn't seem to give a flying fuck that putting herself in harm's way affected more people than just Marlowe Guthrie. For years, Happy had suffered from the same recurring nightmare of having to watch—unable to do anything about it—as his mother opened the door to two uniformed officers from the armed services bearing bad news from the front line. After all his mother had done for her, Marlowe never gave a second thought to just what her dying would do to Amelia Lowman.

 _Or what it would do to me_.

It never occurred to the outlaw biker either that his mother and sister had lived with that same fear for as long as he continued to wear his beloved kutte. Instead, Happy gunned his ride and ripped out of the T-M parking lot to lose his himself and his anger on the open road.


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sons of Anarchy. I do, however, own Marlowe and any other OCs that appear in the 2 Sons Universe.**

* * *

_**Thursday, May 13, 2010** _

Happy was not—for lack of a better word— _happy_.

Shoving his size fourteens into his boots, the outlaw biker angrily tugged the cuffs of his jeans over his footwear before standing up to cross the room to his chest of drawers. From there he retrieved his favorite holster and strapping it over a white t-shirt, went back to the side of his bed for his Glock. Checking to make sure that a bullet was loaded into the chamber and that the clip was full, he shoved the gun into the holster. Stomping across the room once again, he picked up his kutte that was hanging neatly from the back of the chair in the corner. Shrugging it on, Happy finally grabbed his pack of smokes and lighter, followed by his wallet with a long metal chain he clipped to his belt buckle, prepay, bike glasses, gloves and shades before striding with purpose to the door.

He was on a mission to find his sister and when he did, he was going to tear her a new asshole.

It had taken him a good long minute, but his ride the night before had finally done the trick. After almost three solid hours of riding with his bike rumbling steadily under him, Happy had managed to bring his rage level down to a low simmer. Only then did he feel safe enough to return to the Clubhouse just to have his rage flare up once again when he found Marlowe curled up on the sofa instead of in his dorm where she belonged.

Happy had been ready to bark at her to get her ass up, but suddenly stopped himself. He wasn't entirely sure that his recollection was correct, but Happy couldn't remember ever seeing Marlowe sleep in the past two weeks. Being that she shared his dorm, he found it odd but he was sure that every time he'd gone into his room to crash, Marlowe had been awake. She would then grab her sketchbook and pencils, and take off for parts unknown. Studying her in a rare unguarded moment, Marlowe's sleep appeared to be anything but restful and peaceful like that of some of the bitches he'd had the misfortune of waking up next to over the years.

Instead, she looked tense, irritable, and—to his surprise—tortured. Watching her closely as her eyes moved restlessly under almost-translucent lids, he had been startled by the soft moan he heard escape her lips. Although the biker had already been standing stock still, Happy had actually stopped breathing as Marlowe's arms and legs started twitching and flailing about as her moans increased in volume.

 _Shit_ , he thought uneasily. _Is she having a nightmare or a fuckin' seizure?_

About to shake her awake, Marlowe suddenly quieted down, her chest rising and falling as if she were trying to calm herself until finally she lay still again. Wondering if this was the norm for her and the reason she never seemed to sleep, Happy reconsidered his need to wake her up and chew her out. At a loss for what to do next, Happy had retreated to his dorm for a restless night of his own.

Marlowe may have caught him off-guard the night before by slamming the bathroom door in his face, but it was a brand new day and Happy was determined to get to the bottom of some shit. Resolved to wake her up and drag her ass back to the dorm where he could throttle her without an audience, Happy headed down the hall.

_She's gonna tell me everything I want to know or I'm pulling out my bag of tricks. We'll see how fuckin' tough she is then._

So it totally sucked ass when the outlaw stalked into the main room and looked over at the sofa—

Only to find it empty.

"What the fuck?" Happy muttered under his breath.

"Uh, you looking for Doc?" a voice asked from behind the bar and Happy turned around to see Filthy Phil pouring a mug of hot coffee.

"Yeah, I'm looking for _Doc_. Where the fuck is she?" Happy growled.

Phil nearly swallowed his tongue before replying. "She left for St. Thomas about twenty minutes ago, right after her morning run."

Happy scowled. "She tell you that?"

The Prospect shook his curly head. "Not really. I just notice shit is all," he replied casually. "She usually ends her run by having breakfast at that coffee shop across the street from the Hairy Dog—an egg white omelet with spinach and black coffee and a blueberry muffin to go—before heading back here for a shower. She didn't stop there today. I think she decided to pick up breakfast on her way to the hospital this morning instead." Phil shrugged as Happy looked at him suspiciously, not opening his mouth. "I've been in there a couple of times and seen her come in for breakfast in running gear. I don't think she buys those muffins for herself, either. They must be for your mom 'cause she's _really_ buff." Seeing the SAA's eyes darken dramatically, Filthy Phil hastily stammered, "N—not that I was checking her out or stalking her or anything."

Happy looked at him for a long moment. "You ever wanna patch in, you need to learn to be a better liar," he finally said, shocking the Prospect.

Hearing the Chapel doors open, Happy turned in time to see Jax and Opie walk out. The President swaggered over to slap a hand on his SAA's shoulder.

"Glad to see you're up early, Hap. We need to head over to the warehouse, make sure all those auto part crates are finished and double check the hardware before packing up the merch. We're leaving bright and early tomorrow," Jax paused as he eyed Happy. "You a'ight, bro?"

"Yeah," Happy said after a moment. "I had some shit to take care of, but I guess it can wait."

"Good. Let's ride," Jax replied as he headed towards the door.

_Strike two!_

Pulling on his gloves, Happy followed Jax and Opie out the Clubhouse door. It seemed that fate was keeping an eye on his sister and preventing him from giving her a proper ass reaming, but Happy remained undeterred.

_Sooner or later, I'm gonna catch up with that bratty bitch._

* * *

Pulling her caddy into her designated parking spot, Gemma Teller-Morrow flipped down the car's sun visor to check her appearance in the mirror. Satisfied that she looked perfectly put together as usual, she flipped the visor back up and, grabbing her metal-studded black leather handbag, exited the car.

The SAMCRO matriarch was a firm believer in the old adage that looking good meant feeling good as was evident in her confident stride and the swing of her still-tight ass fitted into a pair of dark wash skinny jeans. Because the air was still nippy in the mornings, Gemma had been forced to cover up her low-cut blouse with a short, fitted leather jacket. However, she was sporting a pair of kick-ass open-toed high heels to showcase her French-manicured toes as an ode to spring time in Charming.

Entering the office adjacent to the garage, Gemma dropped her handbag on the black and white plaid couch against the wall. Having seen no sign of Chucky or his baby blue Vespa anywhere on the lot, she grimaced, her worst fear confirmed as she noticed the still-empty coffee pot sitting atop the filing cabinet across the room.

Stepping up to her desk, Gemma noted that the large stack of invoices she had left undone her last time in the office two nights ago was gone. "Hallelujah! At least Nubs got some shit done during my time off," she muttered as she made her way out of the office and towards the Clubhouse for some coffee.

She could only wish she had been as productive as Chucky had obviously been these last couple of days. Instead, Gemma had wasted time going to and from Oakland with her stubborn, pigheaded old man. After Clay had made the decision to step down as SAMCRO's President, Gemma had campaigned, nagging him relentlessly about looking into the experimental surgery that could alleviate the worst of his arthritis symptoms before his condition worsened and ended up crippling him.

After a lot of bullying and more than a few blow jobs, Clay had begrudgingly agreed to "check" out the procedure. Gemma had wasted no time in getting him a stand-by appointment with the exceptionally busy specialist based in Oakland and recommended by Tara. As far as she could tell, Clay was keeping an open mind until he spoke to the surgeon and had a chance to consider all his options.

At least that was what Clay had told her. Apparently, that had been a crock of shit on his part just to get her off his ass and on her knees. After waiting hours for an opening in the doctor's schedule, the highly-anticipated meet had rapidly turned into a dismal failure. Even though the doctor seemed quite competent and well-educated in treating Clay's form of debilitating arthritis with surgery, between the waiting room and consultation room, Clay had morphed into a petulant teenage girl. Being totally unreasonable and contrary as the doctor tried to get a sense of Clay's medical history, her old man had simply stood up and stomped out of the office.

After that, what should have been happy, quiet time for the couple during the rest of Gemma's time off had turned into bonding time with her grandson. Not in the mood to go back into her daily grind back at the garage, she had asked Tara to give Elyda the rest of the day off so she could spend it watching Abel at Jax's house. T-M would survive without her for another day, she reasoned, and as far as Gemma knew, it had been business as usual on the lot while she had been gone.

Entering the Clubhouse, Gemma quickly spotted one of her favorite patches and headed for the bar. "So how was the gig in Tahoe, Elvis? Did you shake and shimmy that ass of yours for all your fans on social security?" she teased as she plopped herself down on a stool.

Bobby turned around with a mug of coffee in one hand and a plate of freshly sliced banana bread in the other. "You know I did! Have to give the ladies what they want. Even had a few grannies sitting at the front table throw a couple of dollars at me. Really made my night," the shaggy-haired man grinned as he reached over the bar to buss Gemma on the cheek. "Can I get ya a cup?" He held out a mug.

"Yes, please! I could definitely use a hit after the day I had yesterday," Gemma replied, thinking about how exhausting taking care of an infant really was.

"I heard about that shit," Bobby said as he poured her a cup. "I'm gone a couple of days and all hell breaks loose." His smile quickly started fading as he noted Gemma's quizzical expression.

"What are you talking about?" Gemma asked with much concern.

"What are _you_ talking about, Gem?" Bobby asked in return.

"My grandson. I spent the day with Abel and he wore my ass out," Gemma replied. "What happened here yesterday?" she asked, automatically thinking the worse.

"One of the Prospects told me there was an accident in the garage. Apparently, Wade sliced his thumb off with a circular saw," he said, at once sober realizing that the Club matriarch had no clue what he was talking about.

" _What_?" Gemma breathed, putting her cup down. "When the fuck did this happen?"

"Yesterday afternoon."

"Oh shit," she murmured, running long fingers through her platinum-streaked hair. "That's awful!"

"Could have been a lot worse, but I heard one of the girls patched him up and kept him calm until the paramedics showed up," Bobby related.

Gemma nodded her head, somewhat relieved. Suddenly, she stopped and looked at Bobby with wide brown eyes that quickly narrowed. "What girl?"

Bobby took a good long look at the Queen's suddenly hunched shoulders and gimlet stare that burned vicious holes into his skull and sighed heavily. "I don't know what I said, but I'm getting the eerie feeling that I just stuck my foot in some shit _._ "

* * *

Exiting her office, Dr. Tara Knowles headed for the elevator that would take her to the third floor recovery unit. She was actually due in surgery in about 45 minutes, but overhearing several nurses as they passed by her discuss a patient that had been brought in late yesterday afternoon had piqued her interest.

 _A severed thumb_ , she thought, wrinkling her brow. _I wonder why Jax didn't mention it._

Although she didn't like it, Tara had grown accustomed to having the Club tug her away from her very important work as a neonatal surgeon in order to patch up Club members who had caught bullets with their asses or stopped fists with their faces. Considering that she had been on her way home from work at the time, Tara thought it was rather strange that the first time there had been a legitimate need for her services down at T-M, she had been the last to hear about it.

Not that she wanted to look a gift horse in the mouth. _After all, it's not like I want to be around the Club right now anyway_ , she thought as she entered the elevator and pressed the button for the third floor. The truth of the matter was, Tara was dreading tomorrow and SAMCRO's first road trip to deliver the Cartel's gun shipment. On their return to Charming, the Club would be loaded down with a shit load of money.

 _And drugs_.

As if running guns wasn't dangerous enough, now Tara had a whole new set of possibilities to worry about. All it would take was one cop getting suspicious or a bystander noticing something out of the ordinary for Jax and the Club to end up doing some hard time. The fourteen months she had waited for him to get out of Stockton had almost crushed her. The chances Jax was taking with his freedom now were purely selfish. If he left her alone again—this time for years—Tara couldn't picture herself waiting around for him. Putting her life on hold for a man who might never get out of prison again was not what she had signed on for, in spite of the fact that Gemma might argue to the contrary.

No longer feeling like she was in between a rock and a hard place, Tara now felt truly cornered, her window of opportunity for escape growing increasingly smaller the longer she stayed in Charming. The surgical positions she had been offered by several hospitals would be filled by others if she didn't make a decision soon and without her career Tara would truly be left with nothing.

Shoving her worries and fears aside, she decided that for the present time, she would at least try to do her duty as an old lady and pay a visit to check on the status of the mechanic injured at T-M the day before. Stepping off the elevator, Tara headed for the recovery unit, turning the corner and nearly colliding head-on with—

 _Gemma_.

"Hey, where's the fire?"

Tara gasped, her hand flying to the base of her throat. "Oh, hey, Gemma. I'm so sorry. Did I hit you?"

"Not at all, sweetheart," Gemma replied with a smile.

"I guess you're here to see the mechanic who lost his thumb yesterday," Tara noted.

"Uh, yeah. I heard it was re-attached," she said and Tara nodded her head. "And you? You're here to check on Wade too?"

"Yeah, I thought I should stop by and see how he's doing," Tara responded. "I would've been here earlier, but Jax didn't mention anything to me about the accident this morning at breakfast."

"Well, he does have a lot on his mind lately," Gemma retorted and got a sharp look from Tara.

"I understand someone from the Club brought him in," Tara said quizzically.

"Uh, yeah. Chibs was on hand."

"Well, it's a good thing he was there," Tara opined. "I heard Wade was very close to bleeding out."

"Yeah, well, that's good ol' Chibs for ya," Gemma replied. "It's good of you to stop by, but I'm here now. I'll represent," she smiled nonchalantly. "I know you must be busy."

Raising an eyebrow, Tara was wondering why Gemma was being so solicitous. Opening her mouth to question her further, she was tapped on the shoulder and turned around to see Margaret Murphy.

"Dr. Knowles, I'm sorry to interrupt, but the Anderson surgery has been moved up and Dr. Namid and the team are waiting for you in Operating Room 5," she said, nodding politely at Gemma.

"Okay, thanks for tracking me down." Tara smiled before turning to face Gemma again. "I guess I won't be able to see him now after all. If you could let him know that I'll try to swing by later in the afternoon that would be great."

"No problem," Gemma said with a bright smile on her face until Tara disappeared down the hall towards the elevator bank.

* * *

Left standing in the corridor with the hospital administrator, Gemma sniffed softly and eyed the other woman. Seeing the woman look coolly down her nose at her before turning to leave, Gemma's eyes narrowed. "Snotty nosed bitch," she murmured before turning on her heel and heading down the corridor to complete her mission.

Hoping to avoid an angina attack, Gemma closed her eyes and took several deep breaths in an effort to calm her rapidly beating heart. After about a minute, the SAMCRO matriarch opened her eyes and congratulated herself on delaying Tara enough to keep her from running into the new girl in town.

 _Whatever poor child is undergoing surgery has my eternal gratitude and hopes for the best_ , she thought grimly as she continued her way towards the injured mechanic's room.

It was obvious that something was definitely off with Jax and Tara, of that Gemma was sure. It had been several weeks since the boys had returned to Charming and Gemma had yet to see the engagement ring she had gone through the trouble of securing for Jax on Tara's finger. Mentioning that fact in passing to her son, Jax had brushed her off while mumbling cryptically about the timing not being right. But Gemma hadn't been the old lady of two SAMCRO Presidents and matriarch of the Club for over 30 years without picking up a thing or two. By now, her sense for sniffing out trouble was as fine-tuned as the bullshit meter she had developed as soon as Jackson had hit puberty.

Up until that morning, Gemma had suspected that Jax and Tara were only now starting to deal with the grief over the loss of their unborn baby. That in itself could put serious stress on a relationship. Mix that with the guilt Jax felt regarding the terrifying ordeal Tara had suffered at the hands of Hector Salazar and you had a recipe for estrangement. After learning about Wade's accident, however, first from Bobby and later in greater detail from Kozik, Gemma now had a pretty good idea why she wasn't knee deep in wedding preparations.

 _It's always the same with my boy_ , Gemma lamented. _It's always about the pussy_.

Apparently, there was fresh meat hanging around the Clubhouse, but with the excitement of having her old man and her son home and with Jax taking over the Club, Gemma couldn't be bothered to notice that there was an extra croweater added to the line-up. After all, one Club whore was the same as another, right?

 _Wrong_.

Actually, as it turned out, this one wasn't a croweater after all, but an actual relative of her son's SAA. That alone had shocked Gemma. Aside hearing about a mother no one had ever met, she had just assumed that Happy didn't have any other family. But even that situation was a little murky because, according to Kozik, the young woman wasn't an actual blood relative. His sister, but not really—whatever the fuck that meant. It didn't really matter one way or another because what had actually stopped her dead in her tracks was what Kozik had said next.

_Jax seems really impressed with her._

_Fuck! I know what that means_ , Gemma thought at the time. _That's code speak for his dick gets hard whenever she's around_!

Gemma loved her son, would maim, kill or die for Jackson Nathaniel Teller, but not even a mother's love could blind her to the fact that her son was a man-whore. He loved pussy, which made him like every other outlaw biker to ever wear a kutte and ride a Harley, and Gemma knew that it was likely he would never change. Even with Tara back in his life, for Jax to stop wanting pussy, he'd have to stop breathing first.

Hearing that Jax was "impressed" by another woman made the small hairs on the back of Gemma's neck stand up at attention. Wasting no time, she left Chucky at the garage while she went to St. Thomas to visit "Wade", hoping she'd run into the new Clubhouse celebrity known as Marlowe. The last thing her son needed was another woman trying to push up on him while he was feeling vulnerable in his relationship with Tara. Running into her would-be daughter-in-law, Gemma had been careful not to do or say anything that would put her on her son's shit list for arousing suspicion in his old lady that Jax had any kind of interest in another woman.

Finally arriving at Room 342, Gemma paused for a moment to prepare herself mentally as she opened the door.

Sitting upright in his hospital bed, his overly bandaged left hand resting on a pillow on his lap, Wade was saying as Gemma pushed open the door, "The doctor said that thanks to your quick thinking, he was able to reattach my thumb. I don't think I'll ever be able to repay you, Doc, for what you did for me."

"I'm just glad I was there to help," Marlowe replied, before looking up to see a tall and rather attractive older woman standing in the doorway.

"Hi, Gemma," Wade greeted cheerfully from his bed.

"Hi, Wade," Gemma walked in, holding a vase of flowers. "This is a little nontraditional—me bringing flowers to a man—but somehow I didn't think your girlfriend would appreciate me loading you up with skin mags," she said, placing the flowers on the table by the bed, next to the television remote and phone.

The ginger-haired mechanic grinned. "Maybe not, but Nina don't have to know shit about it. It would certainly keep me entertained."

"So I take it you're not a lefty, huh?" Gemma smiled knowingly. "I'll keep it in mind for next time." Pausing, Gemma looked to her right as if seeing Marlowe for the first time. "Are you gonna introduce me to your friend here, Wade?" she asked archly.

"Oh, hey, yeah," he started. "Doc—"

"Actually," the young woman interrupted, "its Marlowe."

Gemma held out a hand. "Gemma," she replied simply as Marlowe shook it.

Making a lightning fast assessment, the first words to flash across Gemma's mind as she examined the young woman were "fashion victim". The cut-off white t-shirt with the word "NAVY" emblazoned in blue lettering across the front of a small but nice rack was worn, yet clean. Paired with khaki cargo pants draped over slim hips and combat boots, her incredibly flat and cut abs were on display. To call the look casual was being generous, but despite the complete lack of feminine touches anywhere, Marlowe pulled it off.

 _She's definitely easy on the eyes_ , Gemma thought, taking in the slender curve of high cheekbones, a set of startling gray eyes and yards of wavy caramel-colored hair. _And those lips!_ She marveled, wondering if they were natural. Considering that the rest of her appeared to be, Gemma assumed they were. Those lips were what her biker boys would definitely call "DSLs" or dick-sucking lips. _She's pretty, but so totally not Jax's type_ , she thought, recalling Wendy's lush curves and Tara's soft, innocent features. _That, however, might not be a deterrent. The only thing better than old pussy is new pussy, especially when it's in different packaging._

"I understand we have you to thank for saving Stumpy here."

Gemma watched as the young woman arched an eyebrow at the crude nickname. "No stumps here," she replied pointedly. "Wade has a complete set of digits on both hands once again. He's going to be in therapy for a long while, but the surgeon believes his situation looks very promising."

"Yeah, Gem, and I hope to get back to work as soon as I can—" Wade started.

Gemma tore her eyes away from Marlowe to look at the long-time T-M mechanic. "Don't you worry about that, Wade. I know Jax told you your job is safe, so just concentrate on healing," she assured him. "Now, I have some errands to run so I better go, but I'll send one of the Prospects over with those mags for ya." Turning to face Marlowe again, she said, "Care to walk me out?"

It was clearly apparent to Gemma that the woman wasn't at all interested, but as she continued to focus her unwavering stare on her, Marlowe shrugged her shoulders and gesturing towards the door followed behind her.

Normally, Gemma wouldn't concern herself with Jax hitting hot new pussy, even if he had an old lady. It was part of the Life and none of her business. After all, what happened on a run stayed on a run. But _this_ was Charming and Gemma knew the devastation of finding out her old man had catted around on her when a sweetbutt followed him home once. She also knew Tara had already experienced that same kind of devastation when Jax had tapped the porn slut that had been sniffing around him right under her nose.

Old ladies forgave their men a lot of shit, but they never forgot, and Gemma was sure Tara still felt the sting of that betrayal. Coupled with the rough patch they were obviously going through, the last thing Jax needed was getting distracted by some new woman just because she was radically different from what normally hung around the Clubhouse. Now as she headed towards the room's exit with Marlowe following behind her, Gemma smirked to herself.

 _This oughtta be interesting_.

* * *

Now that the two women were alone just steps away from Wade's room, Marlowe's face was impassive as the woman seemed to take her time in looking her over, and to Marlowe it felt strangely familiar to be appraised in such a manner.

"So," Gemma started, crossing her arms over her chest. "You weren't putting a happy face on Wade's situation?"

"No," Marlowe said briefly. "His surgeon is quite happy with the outcome."

"Lucky for Wade you were Johnny-on-the-spot or that wouldn't be the case, though," Gemma smiled.

"Yeah, I guess he was."

 _What is up with this broad_ , Marlowe thought with some irritation. _Whoever she is, all she's getting from me is name, rank and serial number._

"You see, I thought I knew all of the croweaters down on the lot, but I understand from Kozik that you're actually related to Happy."

 _Is this bitch deliberately trying to bait my ass?_ Marlowe thought with some irritation. Instead she chose to keep her answers short.

"Hap's my brother and, no, I am _not_ a croweater."

_Well, shit. She must be Hap's sister after all. The pair are definitely not the talkie-types, unless you get under their skin._

"Plan on staying in Charming long?"

"Not long," Marlowe replied.

Gemma paused for a beat. "Can you define 'not long'?"

"Can I know who's asking?" Marlowe crossed her arms in imitation of Gemma.

"It's _Gemma_ ," the woman said in a slightly irritated voice. "Didn't you hear Wade in there?"

"Oh, I heard him," Marlowe replied with the same amount of irritation. "That still doesn't tell me who you _are_."

 _Smartass_ , Gemma thought as she eyed the belligerent women. "I'm Gemma _Teller_ -Morrow," she grinned as the woman's eyes widened. "Jax's mother."

"All right."

"That's it? That's all you have to say?"

" _Congratulations?_ " Marlowe quirked an eyebrow as Gemma stared daggers at her. "I'm gonna head out now, grab something to eat—" she started and stopped, a sudden shit-eating grin overtaking her face. "You know, if you have some time, maybe you'd like to stop by and introduce yourself to Happy's mom. She's only here for a few more days recovering from knee replacement surgery before she relocates to a rehab facility in Modesto. She's in Room 354, right around the corner," Marlowe supplied helpfully.

"Maybe I'll do that, "Gemma replied.

_Maybe indeed._

* * *

Hearing someone lightly tapping on her door, Amelia Lowman turned her attention away from _The View_ playing on the flat screen TV above her bed and eyed the woman who poked her head into the room. Having become familiar and friendly with all of the hospital staff on her floor, Amelia gave the striking woman the once over from the comfort of her bed before speaking.

"May I help you?" she asked quietly, her slightly accented voice echoing in the room.

Pushing the door open, the woman stepped inside carrying a small potted plant. "I was here earlier visiting one of my employees and I was told that your room was right down the hall. I thought I'd be neighborly and stop in to introduce myself. I'm Gemma Teller-Morrow," Gemma explained and held out her free hand.

Amelia returned the hand shake with a gentle, but firm grip. "Amelia Lowman," she replied. "It's very nice of you to stop by. Please, have a seat," she said, gesturing to the chair next to her bed.

Gemma set the plant on the tray table before sitting down and Amelia used the opportunity to take a good long look. If she remembered correctly, the woman was—as she recalled Kique calling them—an "old lady", and an attractive one at that, considering that she was probably in her 50's.

 _She dresses a little too young for her age_ , Amelia thought with amusement. _But she actually pulls it off well_.

At the same time, Gemma was also making an appraisal. Despite being in bed, she could see that Happy's mother was nearly as tall as she was and sitting in an upright position against several pillows, she looked very regal, almost elegant in a rose-colored bed jacket. Smooth and unlined skin stretched across a face that despite its age, still retained much of its beauty. With her dark hair pulled back into a sleek yet intricate roll at the nape of her neck, Amelia's oval face was strong and Gemma could most certainly see the resemblance between mother and son.

"What a beautiful plant. Thank you very much for your kindness," Amelia began. "I just love African Violets."

"You're welcome. I'm glad to hear I chose wisely," Gemma replied. "I wish I could take credit for growing it myself, but this one came from the flower shop downstairs. I should give growing them a try."

Amelia brightened. "You garden?"

"Oh yes, and I love it. I have a small greenhouse."

"I too have a small garden back home in Bakersfield. There is something very comforting about working in the soil," Amelia sighed. "But with my bad knee, I haven't been able to do it myself in a very long time."

"Well, now that you have a new one, hopefully that will change," Gemma said, smiling. "I'm sorry that I didn't stop by sooner, but no one actually mentioned that you were in Charming or in St. Thomas for that matter. You would think that as long as I've known Happy, I would remember that's he's not the most talkative of men."

"Oh yes, Kique tends to be very protective of his privacy," Amelia responded.

" 'Kique' ? Who's that?" Gemma asked with a wrinkled brow.

"Kique," Amelia said with a smile, "is my pet name for my son. His name at birth was Enrique Manuel Lowman Lopez."

"Are you shitting me?" Gemma leaned back in her chair and laughed long and hard. "You know, I never knew that. From the day he stepped onto the lot he's always been 'Happy', nothing else."

Amelia shook her head. "And it's a misnomer if I ever heard one, too. Why would anyone call that sourpuss 'Happy' ?"

Gemma chuckled, admiring Amelia's frankness. "My late-husband gave him that name," she replied, a wry smile on her face. "From the moment they met in Chino, John said that it was the perfect name for him. He didn't have a lot to be happy about back then, from what I recall," she said quietly.

"No, my boy didn't," Amelia sighed. "But I am. Happy, that is," she smiled. "Even though it's twenty years too late, from one mother to another, I want to say thank you for what your husband did in protecting my only son."

Gemma nodded simply. "And I'd like to thank you too, for raising a good and loyal man who is now protecting _my_ son."

Amelia shook her head. "What is it about mothers and sons, no? We love them so fiercely, would do anything for them, forgive them for shit that we would _never_ take from their fathers and spoil their asses even when they're ungrateful, yet we love them so much."

"Too true," Gemma grinned, surprised that another woman could so vividly mirror the love and devotion she had for own son Jackson. "You know, the first time I met Happy, I knew he was a mama's boy. Tough, tattooed and scary he might be, but _I_ had to teach his ass how to do his own laundry—"

"What?! My Kique knows how to do laundry?!" Amelia exclaimed, the disbelief clear in her voice. "You must be pulling on my good leg!"

Gemma laughed raucously. "I swear I'm not. He had to do his own laundry before patching into the Club." Gemma watched as the woman sank back into her bed and laughed until tears ran down her face.

"I can't believe it," Amelia shook her head, swiping at her face with a tissue. "I can't wait to tell Marley! She is going to piss herself!"

 _Ah,_ Gemma thought. _Now we're getting somewhere._

"Speaking of Marlowe," Gemma started cautiously. "I was told that she's Happy's sister. For some reason, I always thought he was an only child."

Amelia finished mopping her face. "Well, yes, that's true enough. At least until Kique brought Marley home with him one day."

"Brought her home?" Gemma pressed. "You mean like a lost puppy?"

"Something like that," Amelia said soberly. "But Marley's is family now, always will be. I am grateful and feel very blessed to have such a loving daughter in my life."

"I've always been all about boys, myself," Gemma admitted thinking about her tumultuous relationship with her deceased mother. "Personally, I think all women with mother issues should have the option of drowning their daughters at birth, saving them from all the pain and suffering."

Amelia shook her head with a mixture of shock and amusement. "It sounds like you haven't been blessed yet. But you have a son, no? Surely one day you will have a daughter-in-law and you may feel differently."

 _I don't know about that_ , Gemma thought, but didn't say, feeling a twinge of remorse _._

"I do have an almost-daughter-in-law," she replied. "My son's old lady."

"Well, maybe you need to just give it some time then," Amelia said with a bemused smile. "Besides, this almost-daughter-in-law of yours is probably still learning how to deal with her 'mama's boy'."

"Oh no, no, no. See, I didn't raise a mama's boy," Gemma retorted.

Amelia gave Gemma a sideways look. "It takes one to know one, Amiga," she sassed. "At least in this instance, you are—as they say—my sister from another mister."

It was just as the two older women were laughing that Marlowe walked into the room. _Leave it to T_ _í_ _a to make fast and furious friends with Cruella De Vil_ , she thought as she rolled her eyes. _The one time I actually want her to stick it to somebody and she's making nice._

"So I see you two are getting to know each other," she said crossing her arms.

"Yes, hija, and have I some very interesting shit to share with you that will have you rolling on the floor," Amelia said with a smile. "You know, as hard as I fought against coming to Charming, I'm glad I let Happy drag my ass here. Even though it's only for a few months, I'm already starting to feel at home."

 _Hallelujah!_ Gemma barely kept herself from throwing her hands up in the air.

"So this is just a brief stay for you?" Gemma asked nonchalantly.

"Yes, once my therapy is complete, Marley and I will return to Bakersfield. If everything goes according to plan that should be by August."

"Well, then, I hope that everything works out the way you've planned," Gemma said brightly.

The fact was that Gemma was surprised at how much she liked Happy's mother. She certainly wasn't what she had been expecting and Gemma certainly had an appreciation for fierce mothers like herself. It would have been nice getting to know Amelia Lowman better, but Jackson and his future happiness were all that mattered to Gemma right now. She couldn't shake the feeling that Marlowe would be nothing but trouble for her son.

_Family may mean everything to me, but the sooner Happy's family gets out of town, the better._


	18. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sons of Anarchy. I do, however, own Marlowe and any other OCs that appear in the 2 Sons Universe** **.**

* * *

_**Friday, May 14, 2010** _

_I love long runs. All your problems, all the noise—gone. Nothing else to worry about except for what's right in front of you. Maybe that's the lesson for me today. To hold onto these simple moments, appreciate them a little more. There's not many of them left. I don't want that for you. Finding things that make you happy shouldn't be so hard. I know you will face pain, suffering, hard choices, but you can't let the weight of that choke the joy out of life. No matter what, you have to find joy in the things you love. Run to them. There's an old saying, "that which does not kill you, makes you stronger". I don't believe that. I think that things that try to kill you make you angry and sad. Strength comes from the good things—your family, your friends, the satisfaction of doing hard work. Those are the things that will keep you whole. Those are the things to hold onto when you're broken._

Jax paused and looked up from his journal to watch his sleeping son through the narrow bars of his crib. Arms stretched wide and totally relaxed, Abel was enjoying the sleep of babes, unaware of the problems and stress his old man faced on a daily basis.

 _If only I could be so unaware of my world, a crazy reality entirely of my own making_ , the outlaw thought as he gazed with compassion on his son. _A life I want to change, but I'm not sure that will ever be possible_.

It was early with dawn just starting to break as Jax sat in the nursery, trying to capture on paper the feelings and emotions that weighed heavily on him. This wasn't the first time in his life that Jax had taken to writing down his thoughts, but since his stint in Stockton, he was now doing it regularly. Taking the time to write shit down—keeping track of his thoughts regarding situations he dealt with on a daily basis—was helping him make some sense of the murky life he lived. Writing to his son helped him see where he had come from, what road he was on now and where he ultimately wanted to end up. If the time to pass his legacy on to his son ever came, Jax could only hope that Abel would be better prepared than he had been. Maybe his path through the Life would be easier and better than the one his father had taken before him.

As was the norm now, Jax's slumber had been uneasy and far from re-energizing. More restless than anything, he had spent most of the night in the darkness of his and Tara's bedroom going over in his mind the minute details of the plans for the day. In a couple of hours, the Club would be making its first run for the Cartel and although Jax had done dozens, even hundreds of similar runs in his life as a gun runner, this one was _different_.

Using a popular weekend bike show as its cover, the Sons would transport their merch to the Cartel using the Tucson charter to run protection. For the well-being of the Club and its members, it was imperative that this first transfer go smoothly. SAMCRO had voted the drugs in to keep the gun deal on the table and their heads on their shoulders. Once the transfer was complete, Jax would evaluate the situation and logistics, look for ways to tighten up their crews for delivery and protection so that the next run—scheduled in another two weeks—would go even smoother. Once transport was perfected and ran like a well-oiled machine, SAMCRO could finalize the deal with the Irish for the bigger guns the Cartel was after.

_Only then can I start planning an exit strategy and set a final end date that will get us out of bed with the Cartel._

A soft, rustling sound caused Jax to look up to find Tara standing in the doorway. His old lady's hair, messy from sleep, trailed over her shoulder and the tank top she wore over a pair of flannel pajama bottoms. Her face was somber and reflective, her eyes on the small spiral notebook on his lap.

"My big bad biker is _journaling_?" she tried to say in a teasing voice. "What are you writing about?"

 _Things that I can't share with you because you won't let me_ , Jax thought a little bitterly. Electing not to answer, he stood up as he tucked the notebook and pen into his kutte.

"You sleep okay?" he asked.

Tara shrugged her shoulders. "Not really. Jax, I—" she hesitated and then pushed on. "I just feel like this whole situation is a huge mistake," Tara started and watched as Jax's eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched. "I mean, you're not just going to Tucson for a bike show, are you?" she pressed.

"Tara," Jax started soberly. "You know exactly why I'm going."

She sighed heavily. "Yeah, I do," she conceded.

Jax stepped towards her and placed his hands on her shoulders. "If you wanna know more, babe, just ask me."

Tara looked up at Jax with wide eyes. She could tell by the earnest look on his face that he wanted to share as much as she wanted to know, but she couldn't let him. Being the one he unburdened himself with would just make her complicit with how he was allowing this vicious cycle to destroy their lives.

"It's too early in the morning for this shit," Tara replied, her voice barely a whisper. "Maybe I should just go back to bed."

Jax's jaw clenched. "Maybe you should," he said evenly, his voice tight as he abruptly let go of her shoulders.

Narrowing her eyes at Jax, Tara let out a frustrated grunt. "Are you ever gonna stop resenting me for not wanting to be a part of this—" she threw her arms open wide as she plopped down on the rocking chair. "This is insane, Jax! Nothing about _this_ is normal and it's not what I signed on for," she said sharply, picking up a stuffed penguin and slamming it on her lap. "I thought we agreed to full disclosure between us _before_ you decided to do something so dangerous and stupid as muling drugs!"

"Full disclosure, yes. But what I didn't agree to was having my old lady questioning me on how I run Club business," he said tersely. "Look, the reality is that this is what has to be done to get the Club solvent and to keep us whole. I'm not doing this for shits and giggles, Tara. I'm doing it for my family—for _you_. If you can't stop second-guessing me and get behind that," Jax said as he headed towards the door, "then maybe it's best that I just keep shit to myself."

Slamming the door behind him, Jax winced and hesitated for a moment as he heard the startled cries of his son before he continued towards the front door and his ride.

* * *

The T-M lot was teeming with activity when Jax pulled in. With several croweaters who had stopped by to see them off attending to their needs, his brothers were going through their last-minute routine checks that needed to get done before going on a long run. They were packing and loading saddle bags, and filling up on the breakfast spread that Gemma had arranged at the Clubhouse to give them a proper send off. Jax sighed, however, as he spotted the Club matriarch making her way over to him. He loved his mother, he really did, but after getting into it with Tara this morning, he wasn't in the mood for any more old lady bullshit today.

"Hey, baby," Gemma said as she approached her son, who after parking his ride was walking towards her. She reached up to give him a kiss on the cheek. "You all right?" she asked, noting the mild look of annoyance on his face.

"Yeah," he lied. "I'm fine, just not in the mood to talk, Ma. Is there any food around?"

"Yeah," she said with some caution, nodding at the Clubhouse. "I got some of the girls to come by to make breakfast. There's plenty of hot food."

"Good," he replied, reaching over to give her a brief kiss on the forehead. "I'm gonna go fill up. We'll be hitting the road soon."

Watching her son stomp off, Gemma frowned.

 _Something's not right_ , she thought grimly. _And_ _I don't like that shit_.

It didn't matter that Gemma had been in this situation at least a thousand times since the Club started running guns. Every time they took off for a big run, the matriarch always worried about her boys. She had developed quite the poker face over the years, but the worry was always still there. But no matter under what circumstances the Club found themselves in during a long run, Gemma always made the effort to present a positive attitude, doing all she could to make sure the boys left in a good frame of mind, ready to handle whatever shit lay ahead of them.

Unfortunately, it was looking like that wasn't a lesson her son's old lady had learned yet.

 _Something must have happened this morning that has Jax pissing the wrong way_ , Gemma thought with irritation.

There was just so much damage control Gemma could perform on Tara's behalf. Eventually, she was going to have to get with the program or risk alienating her old man to the point where he started looking for what he wasn't getting from her somewhere else.

With her son as SAMCRO's new President, Gemma realized that on some level she had to take a step back and let the new Queen reign. She got it. She sure as shit didn't like it, but it was the reality and she had to accept it. Being a good old lady meant that you supported not only your old man, but his brothers as well. There were certain things that were expected from an old lady that Tara didn't seem interested in doing for Jax, much less the Club. Not wanting to let either down, it fell on Gemma to pick up the slack.

Jax had looked lost, frustrated and forlorn. It was his old lady's duty to be here, keeping his head straight and focused, showing concern for her man. But with Tara not doing it, someone needed to, especially as Gemma didn't like seeing her son so unhappy. Unhappy bikers made bad decisions, got tangled up in shit. But Gemma knew it wasn't her place to press him on it now, in front of his brothers. While the Club generally respected Gemma, they wouldn't tolerate her pushing in on shit they believed didn't concern her, even when in her mind it did.

Walking over to the Clubhouse, Gemma decided to approach Bobby about feeling Jax out while on this trip. If anyone could get through to her son, get him in a better frame of mind, it would be the father confessor of the Club. But as she entered the main room, her eyes narrowed in thought as she watched her suddenly transformed son, smiling and flirting with Marlowe Guthrie and wondered if her mother's instinct had been right all along.

 _Just because they've loved each other since they were teenagers doesn't mean they're meant to be together_.

* * *

 _Look at him._ Standing by the kitchen, Marlowe smirked as she observed the scene unfolding in front of her. _The King being waited on by his faithful handmaidens._

Marlowe snorted, watching as two croweaters happily waited on the outlaw biker, rolling her eyes as the SAMCRO President accepted the subservience of the Club women as if it were his rightful due. Jax nodded his appreciation at the croweater placing a plate heavy with food in front him and tossed a wink at the other who poured him a generous serving of coffee.

_Damn, I'm surprised they didn't offer to spoon feed him before retreating backwards, heads bowed to the fuckin' floor._

During the past couple of weeks, Marlowe had witnessed first-hand just how the hang-arounds fawned over and treated the Club members. This, however, seemed like a whole different level of hero worship and she was making her best effort to keep the contents of her stomach from spewing forth. But as the women tended to the SAMCRO President, Marlowe had an errant thought.

_Can't say I blame 'em. He_ _is_ _a pretty one._

Marlowe had been exposed to many a macho tough guy during her time in the Navy and while serving with the Marines. She had always gravitated towards the blond pretty boys and liked them best when they were a little dirty. Tatted up, rugged, and slightly hairy bad boys were a particular weakness of hers and Jax Teller certainly fit the bill as if he were made to order.

It was a damn shame that she would have to deprive herself the pleasure of getting to know that particular work of fine art up close and naked. Now that she had taken the SAMCRO Pres up on his job offer, Marlowe was determined to keep her association with the Club on a strictly business level. Nothing good could possibly come from getting involved with any of the Sons, the worst of which would be having to deal with Happy's cranky ass if he ever found out.

 _But that doesn't mean I can't flirt, even if just a little bit._ Marlowe pushed herself away from the wall she was leaning against _._ Besides, she had to thank the man for her new digs.

After all, Jax Teller had been a man of his word. When she had returned from St. Thomas the night before, more than a little worn out from the day's activities, Marlowe had found Kozik waiting for her at the bar.

"Hey, Doc," Kozik smiled brightly. "How's it hanging?"

"It's all good, Koz," Marlowe smiled, placing a hand on the shoulder of his kutte. "I'm tired as fuck, though."

"Well, you had a pretty epic day yesterday," he replied.

"Speaking of which, asshole, I guess I have you to thank for debriefing the Club on my background, huh?" Marlowe crossed her arms and gave the patch a look of faux anger.

"Hey, what you did was a good thing. Don't go hiding that light of yours under a bushel, Doc," Kozik said encouragingly. "Besides, I had a little help in dropping the dime on you, ya know. Tiggy was there too."

"Yeah, I know. Where would Heckle be if not by Jeckle's side?" she said sarcastically.

"Hey, I'm just glad you're gonna stick around in an official capacity, squid," Kozik replied.

"Really? Why?" she asked, her brow furrowed. "I'm not what you might call a subservient kind of woman." Marlowe nodded her head at the small group of croweaters shooting pool. "I'm used to being around tough, crude bad asses and can give as well as I can take. I don't exactly have a filter and tend to say whatever shit hits my brain at any given moment."

"That's all good, Doc. Means you should fit right in," Kozik assured her. "Just know that your gig with the Club is gonna expose you to some shit a lot of the women around here don't know about, including many of the old ladies. As long as you keep it to yourself and know that you have no say in Club business whatsoever, you should be fine." He eyed her soberly.

"I get that," she assured him.

"Good. You should also know that there is a hell of a big difference between you and _them_ ," the biker said, indicating the croweaters. Draining the last of his beer, Kozik slammed the bottle down on the bar. "Enough of that shit. I'm glad you finally got your ass back here 'cause I've been tasked with showing you where you'll be laying your head down for the foreseeable future. Follow me."

And Marlowe had, and had been pleasantly surprised.

Making a left past the beautiful teal bike displayed in a lighted alcove, Kozik headed down the hall and stopped at the door just across from the Club's gym. Pulling a key from his pocket, he unlocked the door and threw it open with a flourish.

"So whacha think?" he asked as they walked inside.

Marlowe took a good look around. It was a small and somewhat austere room, with the stripped down full-sized bed that took up a large portion of it. A small night table and dilapidated lamp, chest of drawers, a one-drawer desk and chair completed the room's meager furnishings. It was, however, clean as the hardwood floor looked freshly polished and the furniture was dust-free. Spotting a door in the far corner, Marlowe walked over, opening it to reveal a tiny bathroom with a sink, toilet and—merciful heavens—a shower! With her back to Kozik, Marlowe allowed a wide smile to cross her face before she pulled her features back into a semblance of indifference.

"It'll do," she had replied nonchalantly even though she was doing mental back flips.

 _Finally! My own space_.

Marlowe had then spent the next fifteen minutes unpacking the contents of the sea bag she had been living out of as Happy had refused her any drawer space. Kozik had one of the croweaters find her a clean set of bed sheets, a blanket and a pillow that was more than adequate. Marlowe wasn't a girly girl. Accustomed to living on Naval bases and ships, she was a practical woman and had learned to keep her life simple. Simple enough to fit into one bag and unlike the Latina Martha Stewart that had raised her, she didn't need her space to be pretty in order for it to be homey. All that truly mattered at this point in Marlowe's life was that she had her own private room that she did not have to share and a key to keep the rest of the world out.

Her first night in her new digs had been good and best of all it had helped her avoid a confrontation with her brother. With him poised to pull out of the lot shortly and not expected to return for a couple of days, it would give her enough time to figure out what, if any, of her exit from the Navy she would share with him.

Now, as she watched the President go to work on his breakfast, she decided to pay her respects to the head biker before making her way to the hospital to check in on Amelia and Wade.

"So," she said standing across from him. "I see you like a little coffee with your sugar." Marlowe grinned as Jax looked up at her, the canister of sugar in his hand still pouring cheerfully away into his oversized mug of coffee.

"You got a problem with sugar, darlin'?" Jax asked, as he eyed her and set the container down to stir his coffee.

"Nope," she replied succinctly. "Especially since it's obviously not hurting your physique in _any_ way." Suddenly, Jax smiled and she was hit with a 1,000 watts of pure sexual heat.

 _Shit, brother, you might want to tone that down a bit. Not sure my heart can take it_ , she thought as she felt a slight flush hit her cheeks.

"I'm glad you noticed. Have a seat," he invited and after a brief hesitation, Marlowe pulled a chair out and sat down.

Waving a hand to one of the croweaters, Jax asked Marlowe, "You want some coffee?"

"Uh, sure, I could use a cup, but I can get it—" she started to rise.

"Nah, sit down," Jax shook his head. "Hey, darlin," he addressed the croweater he had beckoned. "Hook Doc up here with a cup of coffee." Jax turned back to Marlowe. "How do you take it?"

"Black is fine."

"Want some food too?"

"No, I'm good."

Jax nodded at the croweater, dismissing her before he turned his attention back to Marlowe. "Sleep well?"

"I did, actually," Marlowe replied with a smile. "Thanks for setting me up with the new digs."

"So the room work out for ya?"

"Absolutely," Marlowe responded, nodding her thanks to the croweater that returned with her mug of steaming hot black coffee, setting it down in front of her. "Much better than the couch."

Jax's eyebrow rose as he cut a stack of pancakes into triangles. "I thought you were sharing a room with Hap."

Marlowe held back a snort. "Only when he wasn't around. Don't get me wrong, I love my brother, but Hap feels about sharing the way he does about spending money. He doesn't like it."

Jax laughed good-naturedly as he looked her in the eyes. Shit, there was so much he wouldn't mind sharing with her, starting with his bed.

Taking a gulp of his coffee, Jax tried to refocus his thoughts away from trying to get into Marlowe's cargo pants and back on business. "You should know I had Juice start checking you out."

Marlowe nodded. "No problem."

"If everything checks out—which I'm sure it will—we'll talk when I get back next week about money and shit," Jax offered.

"Sounds good to me, Pres," Marlowe replied before taking a sip of her piping hot coffee.

"In the meantime," Jax dug into the breast pocket of his kutte and pulled out a set of car keys and placed them on the table in front of Marlowe. "I promised I'd set you up with a temporary ride. There's a cage out there for you, a dark gray Impala parked along the fence."

"Thanks," Marlowe smiled with appreciation and relief as she picked up the car keys by the fob in the shape of a large letter "D". "You have no idea how much this is really going to help me out."

"Don't thank me, Doc. Thank Ope," Jax said and watched the confusion flood Marlowe's face. "The big guy," he said helpfully.

"I know who he is, but why do I need to thank him? Is it his car?" she asked curiously.

"It belonged to his old lady—his _former_ old lady. Ope held onto it after she passed away and it was just sitting in his garage unused. He tuned it up and everything for ya."

"Well, I will definitely thank him then," Marlowe said with appreciation.

Taking another sip of her coffee, she remembered her conversation with Kozik the day before and wondered if she should push the envelope. Figuring that if Jax wanted to know all about her, he should know that she knew a lot about the Club as well.

Biting the bullet, she started, "So, Tucson's a long way for a bike show, huh?"

Jax stopped digging into this breakfast and put his fork down. "Not that long for a biker," he replied as he wiped his mouth with a paper napkin.

"I've never been to one, but I understand that there are all kinds of things one can buy and sell at these events," Marlowe said cautiously.

Jax's eyes never changed expression as they held hers. "I hear that too."

"Well, whatever the Club manages to buy or sell— _if anything_ —I just hope it all goes well and without a hitch for you boys," she said evenly and sincerely, her long finger circling the rim of her mug. "I don't wanna start earning my pay just yet, okay?"

"I'll take that under consideration, Doc," Jax replied quietly, a gentle smile on his lips. "Thanks for your concern."

"No problem." Marlowe got up from the table. "Have a safe journey, Pres," she said before heading out to the lot to check on her new ride.

* * *

_**Monday, May 17, 2010** _

_Gun fire. Explosions. The screams of young Marines who had done nothing wrong but follow the orders of a foolhardy officer blindly leading them into a slaughter._

_And blood. So much blood._

" _Shit, Doc! Shit," moaned the Marine stretched out on the rocky terrain of yet another patrol. "Don't take my leg, Doc, please," he cried, his young face streaked with blood, dirt and tears. "Please don't take my leg!"_

_Working efficiently, holding back her emotions and her pity, Marlowe met the young man's terrified eyes. "I'm sorry," she replied over the sounds of gunfire and exploding grenades. "There's nothing else I can do." She picked up the surgical saw made to cut through bone. As the young Marine's terrified screams grew louder, Marlowe heard rapid explosions that seemed to be getting closer and closer._

**BAM! BAM! BAM!**

Jerking upright, a scream nearly tore itself from Marlowe's throat. Her eyes bounced wildly around the darkened room as she tried desperately to remember where she was, the loud pounding continuing to reverberate around the room.

**BAM! BAM! BAM!**

Falling back onto her sweat-covered pillow, Marlowe swallowed hard several times, trying to relieve the dry scratchiness in her throat as she swiped a trembling hand over her brow.

 _The door. It's just the fuckin' door_ , she kept saying over and over to herself.

"Yeah?" she called out, her voice cracking. Swallowing once more, she tried again. "What the fuck?" she yelled.

"Sorry, Doc," Filthy Phil's soft-spoken reply penetrated the door. "The Pres wants you in the Chapel ASAP."

Taking several deep breaths, Marlowe let out a long exhale. "All right. I'll be there in ten."

Waiting until she heard the ginormous Prospect's footfalls trail away, she wearily sat upright in her bed and fumbled for the lamp on the night stand. Flooding the room with weak light, Marlowe ran a shaky hand through her damp hair.

"Shit," she mumbled. "That one sucked balls."

Untangling her long legs from the bed sheets that she had somehow twisted around herself during her fitful nightmare, Marlowe swung her legs off the side of the bed and onto the floor. Getting up, she headed for the bathroom where she stripped off her tank top and a pair of briefs before jumping in the shower under the stinging hot spray of water. The shower stall may have been small, but there was nothing wrong with the water's temp or pressure.

Five minutes later, she stepped out, dried herself off and slipped into a pair of jeans, a vintage Metallica t-shirt and her boots. Sweeping her damp hair into a ponytail, Marlowe unlocked her door and made her way to the Chapel. She had one minute to spare before finally knocking on the door.

* * *

Sitting as usual at the head of the table and casually smoking a cigarette, Jax Teller waited patiently for the Club's new medic as he contemplated the Tucson run. With the exception of a few unforeseen circumstances—including discovering that SAMTAC had voted in dealing meth and that the charter's former president had been murdered by two members—everything else had gone smoothly. Not only had the Club returned to NorCal with 30 kilos of pure Colombian blow to transfer to Alvarez and his crew, they also carted back the balance due on the first shipment and the down payment for the next, totaling a cool $800,000.

At the rate SAMCRO was doing business with the Cartel, the MC would be solvent sooner rather than later. That is, once the RIRA felt secure enough to commit to selling the heavy artillery Galindo was after and that was unlikely to happen until after several more runs. Nonetheless, Clay was confident that the Irish would agree to the deal and SAMCRO—with the probable exception of Piney, who had refused his cut of the profits—would continue to prosper and live like kings.

The former-President, it seemed, was taking his semi-retirement in stride. For the most part, the transition of power from Clay to Jax had gone smoothly, with Clay showing his support for Jax by joining the gun run to Tucson. With his arthritis flaring up halfway there, the trip for Clay was, quite literally, hell on wheels, making it necessary for Jax to shoot him up with cortisone more than once. Regardless of the discomfort, Clay was glad to be on hand for his son, candidly sharing useful advice on how the exchange should be handled. In many ways, Jax mused, he and his stepfather were on firmer ground in terms of their relationship, even more so than before shit had gotten so twisted between them.

But Jax was determined not to allow this seemingly agreeable side of his stepfather's personality derail him from his plans. Plans that would get the Club out from under the Cartel's thumb at the right time and into a legitimate line of business. A plan that, for right now, he was keeping to himself.

Now that he was back home, all Jax wanted to deal with was some simple Club related shit, even if only for an hour before he headed back to the warehouse for the meet with Alvarez to transfer the coke. He decided that having another meeting with Marlowe Guthrie would serve as a legitimate distraction. The plan was to discuss her duties for the Club and compensation, but the truth was Jax just wanted to be alone with her again, if only just for a little while.

He raised an eyebrow as a loud knock on the Chapel door echoed around the otherwise empty room. Jax checked the time on his prepay and smirked. _Prompt little bitch said 'ten minutes' and meant it,_ he thought with some amusement even as he called out, "Come in."

Doing as she was told, Marlowe pushed open the door, her eyes immediately landing on the SAMCRO President. Jax eyed the woman he had thought about more than once during the run as she closed the door behind her.

 _Just out the shower and looking hot as fuck_ , he thought, taking in the flawless skin of her make up free face. _She looks tired_ , he noted with a slight frown, spotting the tense look in her eyes.

"You a'ight?" he asked.

Marlowe nodded as she stood at attention in front of him. "I'm fine," she replied.

"At ease, sailor, and sit down," Jax nudged his head towards the chair next to him. "Take a load off."

Marlowe pulled out the chair and sat to face Jax. _Damn, he sure does look good today_ , she thought absently. _Looks like the trip to Tucson was a success_ , she thought as she quickly took inventory, detecting no damage to the fine work of art she was sure his body was.

"When did you get back?" she asked, dragging her eyes away from his muscled arms and sexy, manly hands and back to his face.

"Last night," he replied with a slight smirk, her open appraisal of him not going unnoticed. "It was pretty late when we pulled into Charming."

Actually, Jax and his brothers had made it back from Tucson at a reasonable hour, but had made a detour to transport the coke to the gun warehouse where they put it under lock and key. It was almost 3 o'clock in the morning by the time Jax managed to slip into bed with a sleeping Tara.

The tension in the Teller household between Jax and his old lady had not eased any in the three days that he had been gone. Tara had been up and out of bed early to prepare for work. Refusing to address the elephant in the room, she had instead chattered inanely about work, the weather, and Abel's next doctor's appointment— _anything_ was open for discussion except the run or the two large stacks of cash she found sitting in an open backpack on the kitchen table. Lugging her large briefcase, Tara had placed a perfunctory kiss on the side of Jax's mouth—almost on his cheek—before heading towards the front door, throwing over her cold shoulder that Elyda would be by in a couple of hours. After checking on his son, who was mercifully still asleep, Jax decided to catch an hour or two of shuteye before showering and leaving the house after the arrival of his son's nanny.

Tara's unwillingness to discuss the Cartel run had forced Jax to add a stop to his morning commute before heading to T-M, giving him the combined pleasure and irritation of paying his mother a visit. And Gemma had been more than a little surprised to see him on her doorstep. Having already heard the news of the Club's successful first run from her old man, she had been busy tucking away the huge stacks of cash Clay had brought home into their safe for temporary safekeeping when her son dropped by.

Being forced to go to his mother for help with something his old lady should have been taking care of had tweaked Jax a little more than he had been willing to admit. But he needed someone to help him arrange for a safe deposit box in Abel's name in order to hide his share of the money and he trusted no one like he trusted his mother.

Shaking off his wandering mind, Jax turned his attention back to the young woman eyeing him with an arched eyebrow. "Sorry, darlin'," he said smoothly. "Didn't mean to let my mind wander."

"S'okay, been there myself," Marlowe shrugged. "You're looking relatively healthy, I must say. I assume everything went well at the bike show since I haven't been called in for my services," she said with an inquiring tone. "And you can tell me to shut the fuck up if you think I'm prying. I won't get offended."

Jax was quiet for what seemed like an eternity. His brow furrowing slightly as he studied her, he used the tip of his thumb to tap the butt of his cigarette in order to flick ashes into the ashtray on the table. For a brief moment, he imagined himself coming home to Marlowe after a run. She wasn't asking for the details of what he had been up to. She just wanted to know that he was okay. That she cared enough to ask made a part of him—and surprisingly, not the part of him below the belt this time—spring to sudden life. His mind quickly moving to the many ways a woman like Marlowe would welcome him as her old man home after a long road trip, Jax forced his gaze away from her mouth, which was made for pleasuring a man.

"Yeah, everything went according to plan, darlin'," Jax replied, licking his own lips suddenly gone dry. "Your brother is in one piece too, by the way."

 _Ha!_ _We'll see how long that lasts_ , Marlowe thought sourly. _You might need a new Sergeant-at-Arms if he gives me any more shit_.

Marlowe was well aware that she was living on borrowed time with Happy. The run to Arizona had saved them both from having to discuss the past ten years, including her time in the Navy and her reasons for leaving.

"So," she said cautiously, her hands folded and resting on the beautifully carved Reaper table in front of her. "You wanted to talk."

"Yeah," Jax nodded. "Even with Juice busy on the road, he found some time to run that background check."

"Really? I'm impressed," Marlowe acknowledged sincerely. "It's not always easy getting the kind of Intel I'm sure he was looking for from Uncle Sam about former military personnel."

"Well, don't let the 80's Mohawk fool you," Jax smiled. "Juicy has a lot of contacts, and he can practically make that laptop of his stand up and dance. The info _was_ limited, but he confirmed most of what you told me," he eyed her. "His research combined with Happy vouching for you is all we need. The gig's yours if you want it."

Although Marlowe's expression remained neutral, inwardly she was experiencing feelings of excitement and terror. _Do I want it, especially_ _after this morning's little wake up call_?

 _Yeah, I want it_ , Marlowe answered her own question, shoving aside her fearful trepidation.

The opportunity to make a difference again while making some coin was too great a chance to pass up. Helping Wade, while it may have brought up some troublesome memories, had given her a feeling of purpose. The skills she had trained long and hard to attain had come in handy and helping someone in real need had made her feel alive again for the first time in a very long time. Marlowe figured that acting as the Club's faux doctor shouldn't be too difficult a task. But accepting the position as a glorified first-aid nurse to SAMCRO would only happen if she got a couple of things straight with the man in charge.

"I want the gig," she replied firmly. "But first, I'm going to need a few things, the cost of which shouldn't have to come out of my pocket."

 _Cheeky bitch_ , Jax smiled _._ "I'm listening."

"A proper medical kit for starters," Marlowe replied. "That shitty first aid kit I got stuck working with the other day was pitifully lacking. I'm gonna need more than just gauze bandages and surgical gloves if I'm to look after the Club."

Jax ran a hand over his jaw to hide a smirk. _Damn, I think Dr. Knowles would be a little insulted if she ever heard that_ , he thought with a bit of humor.

"Whatever you need, darlin'. Give me a number and I'll have Bobby give you the money."

"Don't you want to know what it is I'll be needing? Some of it might be a bit pricey," Marlowe explained. "And a lot of what I need may be a little hard to come by legally. Medical supply distributors usually only sell directly to hospitals or licensed professionals or would require prescriptions for some equipment. This ain't some shit that you can find because it 'fell off a truck'. Not to mention antibiotics and serious pain killers."

"The drugs aren't a problem. One of our members has a connection for black market 'scripts," Jax replied. "As for the other supplies, I can task Juice to sniff out some contacts for ya." He leaned back in his chair. "The money's not an issue either. My Club's safety is what's important."

Marlowe nodded. "Good. I'm glad to hear that, Jax," she said, using his name for probably the first time since they met, eliciting a smile from him. "I also need us to be clear on one thing," she continued, the smile fading from Jax's face.

He wasn't sure what he was expecting to hear, but he didn't want to be disappointed. "And what's that?"

"We both understand that I'm not a doctor, right?" Marlowe asked and Jax nodded slowly. "However, like a doctor, I did take an oath as a Corpsman and while I may no longer be in the Navy, I am proud of the work I did in the service of my country. I still take that oath very seriously, so _a_ _nyone_ who falls into my care can count on me helping them to the best of my ability. All I ask is that when I'm handling my shit, _no one_ stand in my way to prevent me from doing it."

Taking in the determined expression on her face, Jax nodded slowly. It was clear that Marlowe wasn't just dedicated to her work but was loyal as well. Knowing her for such a short time, Jax was surprised to find himself at ease around her and secure in his decision to bring her onboard in case the need ever arose. It also didn't hurt that having her around, even if only for a few months, would give Tara some breathing room.

"Let's talk compensation. You'll be in Charming for what, three months?"

Shocked at how quickly the conversation had switched, Marlowe nodded briefly.

"Lump sum work for you?" Jax asked, dropping a five-figure amount on Marlowe that was so unexpectedly high that the fact that he had not acknowledged or agreed to her final terms completely went over her head.

"That's a lot of cash," she said with wide eyes.

"It may involve a lot of work. Some of it dangerous, but with your background, I know you can handle it," Jax replied. "Taking care of my brothers will likely be a full-time job, so you will end up earning every penny even if you aren't doctoring the Club's needs."

"Is this where you casually mention that the gig involves me moonlighting as a stripper as well?" she snarked.

"Nah, darlin'. I would never press a woman into service unwillingly," Jax started, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. "But I sure as hell won't stand in the way if you ever feel the urge to jump on the pole. You dance for me, however, just know that I'd prefer that the show be a private one," he said suggestively and Marlowe felt herself flush all the way down to her toes. She had been around some bold men before, but with Jax Teller, all she was waiting for was an invitation to fuck right there on the table, tossing her resolve to keep things strictly professional between them right out the window.

Regaining her composure, Marlowe smiled. "I'll keep that in mind, Pres. I'm sure you have a birthday coming up sometime. Although somehow, I don't think Happy would appreciate my sudden career change," she said pointedly.

"Prolly not," Jax shrugged his shoulders and flashed her a wicked grin. "But regardless, you'll earn your way around here." He held out a hand. "So do we have a deal?"

Marlowe hesitated for a moment, before putting her hand in his. As his large hand swallowed her own in a firm, yet gentle grip, Marlowe felt a slight surge of electricity shoot through her body.

 _Shit, I may end up giving him a private show after all_ , she thought and was downright sure of it when the SAMCRO President covered her hand with his other one and squeezed.

"Welcome to the Club, Doc," he smiled.

* * *

"Well, don't those two make a cozy picture," Clay said under his breath as he puffed on his lit cigar.

"What did ya sae, brutha?" Chibs replied as he sipped on his Jameson.

"Take a look," Clay invited, nodding toward the Chapel.

The patches, who had been comfortably shooting the shit at one of the tables, focused their eyes on the couple exiting the Chapel. Both tall and lean, with Jax topping his companion by several inches, they made a striking pair.

"Aye shite, brutha. Tha's nae to worry about," Chibs said, waving it away. "Tha's jus Doc."

Piney let out a low whistle as he looked over his shoulder. "That broad's a looker. Jax is lucky I've got a good 35 years on him, otherwise he wouldn't stand a chance."

"Stop talking shite Piney, especially as she's Hap's little sister. Unless, of course, ye got a death wish," the Scottish patch grinned, stretching the scars on his face into a huge grin.

"As if dealing with Happy was some new shit to me," Piney muttered as the couple made their way over to the group.

"Well, if it ain't the Geezer Crew," Jax snarked as he came to a halt at the table, eyeing the oldest patch. "I thought your ass was up at the cabin."

"It was, until I ran out of the good shit," Piney replied holding up a shot of Patron. "I heard I missed quite the show too while I was away. And you, my dear, must be the newcomer who knows how to handle her shit." He held out a beefy hand to Marlowe. "Piney Winston, Opie's my spawn."

Marlowe returned the firm grip. "I should've guessed the VP's your son. He's a dead ringer for you, only you're way more handsome," she said with a slightly flirtatious tone that didn't go unnoticed.

Piney grinned. "I think I'm in love."

"A'ight, old man. Keep it in your pants," Jax said, drawing Marlowe's attention back to him and continued the introductions. "Sitting next to him is my stepfather and the former Club president, Clay Morrow."

Clay extended his hand and Marlowe accepted it, noting his slightly swollen fingers. "I believe I already met your wife—I mean, old lady, Gemma."

"Yeah, I heard all about that," Clay replied as Jax raised an eyebrow.

"You never mentioned that you met my Moms."

"I didn't think I had to. After all," she grinned cheekily, "I survived the encounter."

"That shit needs to be put on a fuckin' t-shirt and sold at one of those fundraisers Gem does every year," Piney wheezed through his laughter, giving himself a shot of oxygen.

Jax shook his head ruefully in agreement. "And you've met Chibs."

"Aye, Jackie and never has this ol' biker been told what to do so fast and sharpish by a lass either," Chibs replied knowingly.

"Get used to it, brother, at least when it comes to healing. Marlowe has agreed to help us out for the next few months seeing to our cuts and bruises," the Pres announced.

"Well then, maybe I need to go get a finger or two snapped off it means getting next to a pretty broad like you," Piney said as he flashed her a smile and a wink and in that moment, Marlowe could totally see the younger version of him.

 _You must have given your old lady hell_ , she thought amused and said so. "You must have been real trouble for the ladies back in the day, huh?"

"No doubt, sweetheart. I can still get up to some shit, you know," Piney retorted.

"Mind your manners, old man," Jax warned as he bent over to kiss the man on the top of his head. "I wish I could stay and protect you from this feisty old biker, but I have some Club shit I need to close on. I trust I'm leaving ya in safe hands."

"And if you're not, what are you gonna do about it, you young asshole?" Piney practically bellowed.

"Not me, brother," Jax said with an evil grin. "But Happy might want a word or two with you," he replied as he gave Marlowe's arm a light squeeze before swaggering out of the Clubhouse.

"Don't jus stand there, lassie. Sit down and join us," Chibs invited, grabbing a chair from a nearby table and shoving it in her direction. Taking it, she turned it around to straddle it.

"Can we offer you something to drink, honey?" Piney asked, waving a hand at the Prospect behind the bar.

"A Coke if you got it," Marlowe replied.

"Not a hard drinker, lass?" Chibs queried.

"Not anymore."

"You don't know what you're missing," Piney replied as the Prospect brought over a fresh bottle of Patron and a can of Coke. "Shithead! At least act like you've been around a woman at some point in your life! Get a glass for the lady," he ordered.

"I ain't no lady. This is fine," she said popping the tab and taking several glugs. As Marlowe put the can done, the Marine tattoo on her forearm came into view.

"Now that is a beautiful sight," Piney sighed. "Right, Clay?"

"Yeah it is," Clay drawled, raising his glass of whiskey. "It's an honor having a fellow Vet around here, Doc."

Marlowe smiled in appreciation. "Thanks," she said, raising her can of Coke. "Vietnam?"

"Hell's yeah! Army, 25th Infantry Division, '67-69," Piney bellowed proudly. "Clay here was 173rd Airborne Brigade."

"And the Scotsman," Clay started indicating Chibs. "Served as a medic in the Queen's Army, Falkland Islands."

"Spent five months in the British Army 'til it was decided that a separation might be in me best interest," Chibs explained cheekily.

As she had with Tig and Kozik, Marlowe spent the next couple of hours getting to know the boisterous men, two of which who were what they called "First 9", or the first members of the Sons of Anarchy. As a matter of fact, Marlowe learned that Piney Winston and his best friend John Teller had co-founded the Club upon their return from Vietnam. JT, as everyone around the table referred to him, had been the first president of the Sons of Anarchy and the current President's father.

"The '60s were a turbulent time, you know this I'm sure. We may have left as boys and returned as men, but we were still just kids trying to reconcile what we had seen and done with the life that was waiting for us back home," Piney explained, his tequila-soaked voice raspy. "It was an unpopular war and we were not welcomed home as heroes."

"No we weren't," Clay agreed with much feeling. "More than just a few of us guys came back broken by society's standards, and no one knew what the hell to do with us. Many of us had always been round pegs trying to fit into square holes to begin with, but 'Nam busted us up, mentally and physically."

"JT knew we could no longer live by society's standards. He wanted to live off the grid, be free, but he missed that sense of brotherhood we had while fighting that Godforsaken war," Piney said. "We may not have known exactly who the enemy was that we were fighting, but we always knew we could count on our brothers to watch our backs."

Marlowe nodded. Undoubtedly, her experiences probably differed greatly from theirs as a woman, but she could definitely relate to the sentiment of brotherhood as she had experienced it herself in Afghanistan. Aside from the work she had done as a Corpsman, what she had missed the most was that sense of belonging. It made complete sense to her that many of the old school motorcycle clubs had been started by military veterans. Marlowe may not have known much about MCs in general, but she did know that the majority of clubs did not allow female members and the Sons were definitely one of those clubs. It didn't matter as she had no interest in riding. She did hope, however, that in her capacity as the Club's medic she would get to enjoy that sense of belonging that she had been missing for so long.

Looking at her watch, Marlowe bit her lip in consternation. "Something wrong, luvvie?" Chibs asked.

She was running late on getting to the rehab center in Modesto to see Amelia, but Marlowe quickly realized that it had been time well spent. "Not at all," she replied, standing up. "But I do have to run if I want to see Hap's mom before her afternoon therapy."

"Say no more, Doc. Priorities and all that shit," Clay said charmingly. "But next time we shoot the shit, promise you're gonna have something a little stronger than Coca-Cola."

"Promise," Marlowe smiled engagingly. She was about to head back to her dorm for her jacket and car keys when a thought occurred. "Chibs, I have no way of contacting the Pres, but if you speak to him before I get back, please let him know that I'd really like to meet his source for 'scripts sooner rather than later."

"Hey," Piney called out. "Seems you already did, sweetheart. If black market 'scripts are what you're looking for, I'm the patch you need," he winked at her. "You let me know when and I'll take you for a little ride," he offered. "I'll even have the bitch seat reinstalled on my bike for the trip."

 _It'd be nice having a pretty young thing like Marlowe pressed up against my ass crack again_ , Piney thought nostalgically.

"On that trike you ride?" Clay hooted. "Don't you need that space for your oxygen tank?"

"Fuck you!" Piney hollered.

As both Clay and Chibs ganged up on Piney and ribbed him mercilessly, Marlowe smiled, feeling more at home than she knew it was wise to.


	19. Chapter 19

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sons of Anarchy. I do, however, own Marlowe and any other OCs that appear in the 2 Sons Universe.**

* * *

_**Monday, May 17, 2010** _

With the rest of the Club outside standing guard duty until Jax and the Mayans arrived to make the coke transfer, Juice had been left in the gun room of the warehouse to keep a close eye on the Cartel's drugs. Having been one of the members that had voted against trafficking blow for Galindo, Juice had been nervous about how the muling part of the deal would go. Fortunately, the trip to Tucson had been uneventful as far as the Cartel business was concerned. All the Club needed to do now was transfer the shipment over to the Mayans and SAMCRO's first gun/drug run would be complete without any bloodshed.

Sitting on a stool at the large work table in the center of the room, Juice was idly searching through his laptop for connections to anyone who might have an in with a medical supply distributor. When Jax had called earlier with the request, Juice told him it was a long shot, but Jax insisted he give it a try anyway. Apparently, the information he had culled on Marlowe Guthrie had been enough to satisfy the Pres. It looked like she was officially on board as SAMCRO's go-to for medical-related services and Jax wanted to make sure she had everything she needed in case of an emergency.

The fact that Jax thought it was necessary to have someone on retainer in the Clubhouse to take care of their medical needs was a little worrisome to Juice. Maybe Jax was expecting trouble with the Cartel and/or their rivals, Lobos Sonora. Having read up on Marlowe's military combat training as well as her medical education, the expectation that some serious shit had the potential of going down didn't seem that farfetched, especially since she was more than qualified to take care of herself as well as others. On paper, not only did Marlowe have the training, but she had battlefield experience in Afghanistan. But if protecting Tara from any possible threats to the Club had been behind his decision to hire an independent contractor, what didn't make sense was why Jax would hire a woman who was related to another Club member.

Realizing that the need to understand was probably above his pay grade anyway, Juice went back to concentrating on finding a connection when Happy all but busted the door down on his way into the room.

"So asshole," Happy growled without preamble as he advanced on Juice. "What the fuck did you find out?"

Juice eyed the menacing biker and wondered how cowardly it would be if he tried to make a run for the door. "Hey, Hap. Whassup?" He tried for a smile that died on the vine the closer Happy got.

" _Whassup_?" Happy queried with a raised eyebrow. "You know what's up, _pendejo_. I want whatever Intel you gave Jax on Marlowe."

Happy was sure he had reached some milestone in his development as a human being by being able to contain his shit for longer than would be expected otherwise. Being denied the opportunity to crawl up his sister's ass for holding out on information he had a right to know, Happy had left with the Club for the Tucson run. He was well aware, however, that Jax had tasked the Intelligence Officer to run a background check on his sister.

It wasn't the fact that Jax wanted to run one that concerned him. An outlaw for almost twenty years, Happy understood that outsiders brought into working relationships with the Club had to be properly vetted. Marlowe may be family, but she had also been off of Happy's radar for the past ten years. He loved his sister, but he also loved his Club. With little tolerance for faithless bitches, Happy had not taken offense when his President suggested the need for a background check.

What he did take offense to, however, was Marlowe having Jax kick him out of the Chapel while they discussed her history. Afterward, Jax had been tight-lipped about the context of their discussion, suggesting that he wait for Marlowe to decide when she was ready to share. Instead of catching up on some much needed sleep after the run, Happy had expected Marlowe to head out before dawn for her morning run and waited at the bar to confront her. He didn't get the chance because Jax had called, asking him to go relieve Miles who was keeping an eye on the small crew of Prospects they had left at the warehouse to guard the gun room.

After almost five full days since Wade's accident, Happy had run out of patience, which was why he was about to use his steel-toed boots to press down on Juice's balls if he didn't voluntarily give up the shit on Marlowe.

"Look, man," Juice started hesitantly, "Jax asked me to keep what I found confidential. If you want to know shit, maybe you should ask—"

"When I want information, I go directly to the source. Right now, that's _you_ , numb nuts," Happy retorted. "As SAA I have a right to know what the fuck is going on in order to protect the Club, so you're gonna tell me what you know right now or I'm gonna t-bag you until you choke on my balls."

"Damn, Hap!" Juice started irritably. "That's some sick Tig-type shit you're threatening me with."

"Good idea," Happy smirked evilly. "I can put a call into Tiggy and make this a threesome. It's up to you."

Happy wasn't exactly known to be a jokey-type of guy, so Juice decided to err on the side of not wanting a set of man-balls dunked into his mouth. "Fuck! All right, but you didn't hear this shit from me."

* * *

It was late afternoon, but Marlowe had lost all track of time.

After visiting Amelia at the rehab center for a couple of hours, Marlowe had returned to the Clubhouse—unknowingly and narrowly missing running into Happy. In her eagerness to get started, Marlowe had missed lunch after skipping breakfast to meet with Jax and had locked herself in her room to work on assembling a shopping list of medical supplies. The task was made infinitely easier when Chibs thoughtfully offered her one of the spare laptops that Juice kept at his surveillance station so that she could do the necessary research. Her stomach was grumbling ferociously for food, but the former Corpsman continued to ignore it as she focused on the task at hand.

Since the Club had its own secure network, Marlowe was able to use the internet to scout out potential medical supply stores to contact in NorCal. So far, she had earmarked a potential source for medical supplies, a store in Lodi located in what seemed to be a shadier part of town that might be amenable to providing her what she needed "under the table" for the right price.

Knowing that Happy was back in town, Marlowe knew she couldn't avoid him forever, but put the inevitable confrontation on the back burner for now. She was an adult woman and more than capable of watching out for herself. Any explanation Happy felt she owed him would come when she was good and ready, not when he dictated that it would.

Suddenly, the door to her small room was shoved open with enough force to send it slamming into the wall. Coolly looking up from the computer screen, Marlowe was confronted by a pair of angry eyes dark as pitch.

"Fuck! Guess I must be good and ready now," she muttered to herself under her breath as she silently closed the laptop and put it in the desk drawer. After all, she saw no need giving Happy some shit to break.

Marlowe watched as he stepped into the room and slammed the door shut behind him. She wondered just how much information she would be able to get away without telling him, but as soon as he opened his mouth, she realized she was done hiding shit from Happy.

"You got out in June '07! Where the fuck have you been?!" Happy bellowed.

Marlowe ran a hand through her hair, inwardly cursing Jax Teller to hell. "Shit, I thought I told your President to keep my business to himself," Marlowe muttered.

"Don't blame him. I didn't hear it from Jax, but I didn't hear it from you either, huh?" Happy said angrily.

By process of elimination, Marlowe quickly connected the dots. "Please tell me you didn't kill this Juice guy. If you did, there's no way I won't be blamed for the death of a patch."

"He's fine," Happy growled. "You, I ain't so sure about unless you start talking like right now! Where the fuck were you for eighteen months before showing up on Ma's fuckin' doorstep?"

Taking in his indignant anger, Marlowe felt her body vibrate with quiet rage. "And after ten years, you give a fuck now? Why?" she asked, slowly rising from her seat. "It's not like you didn't know my ass was in some hot zone fighting a war no one gives a shit about. I kept in touch with Amelia, so I'm sure you knew every step I made."

"Whatever, Marlowe," Happy replied, refusing to acknowledge that he _had_ kept tabs on her through his mother. "But not even Ma knew you'd left the Navy until you showed up on her doorstep," Happy retorted. "I know because I went to talk to her before coming here."

"Then I'm sure she told you exactly where I was for eighteen months," Marlowe said bitterly.

"Bullshit, Marley! You know she would never betray your trust," Happy argued. "Where the fuck were you?"

Crossing her well-defined arms over her chest, Marlowe gave Happy a hard look, convincing the outlaw biker that she was going to clam up just like his mother had less than an hour ago. That's why the next words out of her mouth sent his poker face to hell as he gaped at her in shock.

"I was living in San Diego after the Navy forced me into taking temporary disability leave _after_ I served six months in NAVCONBRIG in Miramar," Marlowe replied nonchalantly.

"What the fuck?" Happy sputtered. "NAVCONBRIG? You served time in a military prison?!"

Marlowe shrugged her shoulders. "Not really. I mean, I was confined to the Brig, but in light of the situation, it could have been worse since I was originally charged with conspiracy to hinder a murder investigation. Had I been court-martialed, then I would have served real time, 25-to-life."

Happy felt as if she had punched him in the gut. "What the fuck are you talking about, Marlowe? What the fuck did you do?" he asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.

Marlowe ran her hand through her loose hair. "I broke the chain of command by failing to report my medical treatment of two Marines injured during a fragging incident that killed our base commander in Kabul," she explained quietly. "The only thing that kept me from doing hard time was my stellar record up until that point. The Navy spent too much time, money and effort in training me, so instead of booting me, they downgraded my rank and held me in confinement for six months. Uncle Sam let me keep my medals and one-third of my monthly pay while I'm on temporary disability leave."

"What does that mean, temporary disability leave?" he asked just one of the million questions swirling through his brain, making his head hurt. "Are you in or are you out?"

She shook her head. "That's all I'm sharing with you, Hap," Marlowe replied quietly before smirking, unwilling to tell him about her PTSD. "I told Jax everything, which Juice confirmed. If the Intel Officer didn't drop the dime on me, it's probably because the Pres has his nuts in a vise as a favor to me. I see no reason to hash this shit out with you now, not after ten years of you not caring where I was or what I was doing. Why start pretending that you give a shit now?" she asked rhetorically.

 _And that's what bothers me the most, isn't it, that he really doesn't give a shit?_ Marlowe huffed to herself, refusing to shed one bloody tear for the outlaw.

But as Happy looked at his sister, he could see the telltale hurt look in her eyes as she stood defiantly in front of him, her back rigid and her brow furrowed. Suddenly, his mother's soft voice echoed through his head.

 _Hijo, tell Marley how you really feel. That's all she's ever really wanted from you, to know that you care_.

Biting back his own insecurities—and instead of responding with righteous anger—the outlaw biker approached his sister and grabbed her by the shoulders, shaking her slightly. "Why the fuck would you think I don't care, Marley?" he asked quietly. "I've cared about your skinny ass since the day I met you, or did you forget that shit?"

Marlowe swallowed the large lump that suddenly formed in her throat. His quiet and calm response taking her for loop, it took her a moment to respond. "That was such a long time ago, Hap. I've been through acres of shit, so yeah, maybe I did forget because you never bothered to remind me," she admitted, her throat hoarse with unshed tears.

"Then maybe it's time I do, little girl."

* * *

_**Bakersfield, CA—May 1990** _

The biker cracked opened bleary eyes as he took in his surroundings.

_Shit, I must have really tied one on if I can't remember where the fuck I am._

Propping himself up on his elbows, Happy let his eyes wander about to get a better look at his accommodations.

 _Dump_ , he noted, as he looked at the small bedroom, its pale blue paint peeling along the edge of the ceiling and closed door. The tiny closet on the other side of the room seemed to be missing a door and was crammed full of party clothes and stripper shoes. A narrow doorway which probably led to a bathroom was on his side of the room and the one other piece of furniture aside from the queen size bed was a large, mirrored dresser cluttered with all types of beauty shit and cosmetics that some bitches couldn't live without.

Happy finally allowed his eyes to land on the bed's other occupant and noted that the naked woman lying on her stomach was dead to the world. With a raised eyebrow, the outlaw biker had to admit that he was surprised at the find.

 _Damn! She's fuckin' hot,_ he thought as he let his eyes roam from the long trails of wavy dirty blonde hair spilling over her shoulders, down a smooth back to a flawlessly round ass. Happy smirked to himself as he fell back onto the wafer-thin pillow, little flashes of the night before making it through the fog of his hangover. _Yeah, the bitch is hot alright. A cunt as tight as a vise and a mouth like a fuckin' Hoover_.

Then again, he had never known his brother to lead him astray when it came to pussy. As it turned out, Tig had been dead to rights with his recommendation for strong, cheap drinks and lots of eye candy. Nasty Boots, the strip club up on the I-99 boasted the best talent in the area and the headlining stripper he had picked up had been no exception. She had given him a wild ride during a lap dance in the VIP Room, calling it a preview of what she was capable of if he came home with her once her shift ended. Happy had barely set foot inside her house before she had made good on that promise for the first time that night by blowing him in the darkened living room. He hadn't even had the chance to take off his kutte before shooting his load down her throat. He had picked her up and, following her directions, carried her into her bedroom where he had fucked her six ways to Sunday.

Now, flipping back the thin bed sheet, Happy stretched his muscular 6'2 naked frame as he stepped out of bed and headed for the bathroom. It was time to hit the road before she woke up. Every stripper he had ever fucked in his life turned into a drama queen the minute the sun came up and the last thing he ever had the patience for was dealing with clingy bitches.

* * *

Making do with a quicker than usual shower, mostly due to the lukewarm temperature and low pressure of the water, Happy pulled on his jeans, boots and t-shirt. Picking up his Glock and holster hanging from the bedpost, he slipped it on as he crossed the small room. Grabbing his kutte, which he had taken the time last night to hang neatly from the hook behind the door, he stealthily exited the room as he pulled it on, his piece of ass from the night before still sound asleep. It was only as he headed down the short hallway that he realized that they weren't alone in the small house.

The soft murmur of cartoon voices coming from a television made its way to his ears and put the outlaw biker on alert. Remembering how he and the woman had stumbled about in the darkness through the small house, laughing and groping one another in drunken sexual excitement, Happy had been sure that they were alone. Apparently, he had been wrong and he didn't like that. Sliding his hand under his kutte, his hand encircling the grip of his gun, Happy slowly stepped out of the narrow hallway and into the living room.

And spotted the girl.

She sat cross-legged in a heap of bed sheets on a worn tan sofa. With long hair the color of rich caramel trailing down her back, Happy noted the narrow frame of her body in the thin t-shirt and ragged pair of shorts she was wearing.

"Shit," Happy mumbled under his breath, "she's got a kid."

Happy and kids didn't mix, not even when he had been one himself. He'd had one or two close friends growing up but, for the most part, had been a loner. As a young teenager he had gravitated towards a group of neighborhood toughs that ran the streets who, even though they were considerably older, had embraced him as a part of the group and even taught a young Happy how to boost cars. Happy soon cultivated the scary, menacing persona he was known for today, managing to send kids his own age screaming in abject terror without saying a word. Even now, he was something of the neighborhood boogeyman back home, like Michael Meyers and Jason Voorhees. Only tough little SOBs like Jax Teller and Opie Winston had the nerve to try and engage him in actual conversation, almost always on a dare as the two boys were constantly trying to out-dick each other to prove whose balls were bigger.

However, it seemed that JT and Piney's boys weren't the only ones brave enough to address him. His muttered exclamation of surprise must have been loud enough for the little girl to hear as she responded, her eyes never leaving the 19" box-style television sitting on a dilapidated wooden stand.

"Geez, it's not like I fuckin' bite," she said between spoonfuls of cereal from the large bowl that sat in her lap. "And even if I did, girls don't have cooties. Shannon told me so."

 _Damn,_ Happy thought, as he bit back an unexpected grin before it broke the surface of his face. _Snarky little bitch._

Ignoring the compulsion to just head for the front door, get on his ride and show up on his Ma's doorstep for his favorite breakfast, Happy sauntered over to the couch. The biker knew he made a large and imposing picture as he stared down at the tiny girl, yet the little bitch seemed not to even notice, as she continued watching TV, her eyes never deviating from the screen.

"Who's Shannon?" Happy growled, thinking it must be one of her friends from school, a little know-it-all bitch the little girl probably looked up to.

Still facing the television, the girl gave a huge sigh to go along with the massive eye roll Happy knew was directed at him. " _My mom_ ," she replied condescendingly. "You know, the lady that brought you here last night. She doesn't like it when I call her 'Mom', says it makes her feel old."

Happy smirked to himself, thinking sarcastically, _Who would have thought that Cinnamon Swallows wasn't the bitch's real name?_

"You're pretty mouthy for a kid," he said, his tone of voice harsh. He was sure that at any moment the little wisp of a child would jump up and run for the hills.

She didn't.

Instead, she placed her spoon in the now-empty bowl and allowed her eyes to run up and down his long frame, ending at his face. Apparently, she hadn't read the memo about not looking an outlaw biker in the eyes unless you wanted trouble because she did, her deep gray eyes flecked with gold. Cocking her head to the side, she seemed to be reading him before she spoke, the look on her thin face making her appear wise beyond her years.

"Ain't the first time I've heard that, but I'm just being me," she replied with a shrug of her small shoulders. "Hey, Mister, you hungry?" she suddenly asked as if just remembering her manners.

Happy ran his hand through his closely cropped dark hair. "Yeah. Why you askin'?"

At that, the little girl put her bowl on the cluttered coffee table next to a large box of Cap'n Crunch and a container of milk. Getting up, she headed for the kitchen, quickly returning with another similarly large bowl and a spoon. "Sit," she ordered and as Happy gaped at Little Miss Bossy Knickers, she set the bowl on the table, filled it and her own with cereal before adding generous amounts of milk. Gingerly handing over the fresh bowl of cereal to her guest, she grabbed her own, plopped down on the sofa again and continued with her meal.

Picking up the spoon, Happy sat down beside her and dug in, trying not to grin at the girl. _What is it about all bitches feeling the need to feed a man, even a little bitch like this one? It must be part of their genetic makeup or some shit_ , Happy decided. His mother was the same way, always feeling it was her obligation to feed anyone and everyone that ever stepped foot in her house.

The two of them sat in silence as they watched G.I. Joe and Cobra go head-to-head. At least she had good taste in Saturday morning cartoons as G.I. Joe was a particular favorite of his.

"I ain't changing the channel, so you gonna have to watch what I'm watching," the girl said without so much as a smile. "They're playing back-to-back episodes of G-Force and the Transformers next."

"That's fine by me," Happy replied around a mouthful of cereal. "But—"

"But what?" the girl challenged.

"I thought little chicks like you watched Rainbow Brite, My Little Pony and shit like that," Happy noted.

The look of disdain on her face was nearly enough to make _him_ cower. _That_ look was probably another thing bitches were just born with, some purely instinctive shit. Rolling her eyes again, she snickered at the biker. "Why would a scary guy like you know about girlie shit like My Little Pony?"

Happy furrowed his brow, suddenly aware that in spite of her bravado, he might actually be frightening to the little spitfire. "You think I'm scary?" he asked and the girl nodded sagely. "Do I scare you?"

She studied him once again with wise gray eyes for what seemed like an eternity before making a "pffft" sound and waving him away. "Puh-lease! Nothing scares me. Not even those Freddy Krueger movies. You can't be a 'fraidy cat if you wanna be a Navy Seal," she said with a grin.

Feeling his mouth about to tug into a smile, Happy coughed rather loudly as a distraction. "You know that bit—chicks like you can't be Navy Seals, right?"

"Says you!" she exclaimed indignantly. "I can be anything I want when I grow up."

Obviously the little bitch had no problem stating her opinion, nor did she have a fear of being around strange men, the latter making Happy feel slightly uneasy. Happy didn't know shit about child development but he if had to guess, he would say the little girl was no more than six—in spite of her potty mouth. Even more disturbing, however, was the fact that she had probably been home alone when he had stumbled into the house with her stripper-whore of a mother in the wee hours of the morning. Despite the fact that he was a single man with no plans of ever having kids of his own, that shit just wasn't settling right with him at all.

Scooping up the last bit of cereal and milk, the girl let out a huge burp and then put her bowl back on the coffee table before turning to her companion. Now that there was a commercial break, it seemed as if the girl was about to turn into a mini-interrogator.

"So what's your name?"

"Happy," he replied, hoping the surliness of his response was enough to indicate that he wasn't interested in giving any explanations as to the origin of his nickname.

Unfortunately for him, she hadn't gotten that memo either.

" _Happy_?! Why would your momma call you 'Happy'? She a fan of Snow White or something?"

The biker sighed and then growled. "She didn't, but it's my name. Now stop asking me shit, a'ight?"

The girl crossed her arms over her chest and pursed her lips. "Whoever it was named you Happy ain't too bright," she commented, wrinkling her nose in distaste. "You sure don't look like a 'Happy'. A 'Grumpy' definitely." The little girl started giggling.

"For a little kid, you sure act like a know-it-all."

"I'm not a little kid. I'm eight, almost nine," the girl boasted. "I'm just small for my age is all."

Happy raised an eyebrow. He didn't see how that made a difference. He was willing to bet that if they stood side-by-side, she still wouldn't reach his knees. "So what's your name, smartass?" he found himself asking before he could stop.

"It's Marlowe," Shannon Guthrie replied as she sashayed into the room, her voluptuous body scantily clad in nothing but a thong and short pink robe. "And what the fuck have I told you about bothering my guests, little girl? Now clean up your shit, and take your ass back to your room."

Happy watched as the girl's eyes narrowed with anger. "I wasn't doing nuthin', Shannon. Just talkin'," she mumbled. "And the TV's in here."

"I don't give a shit, little girl. Stop giving me lip and do what I said," her mother ordered, "and like yesterday."

Without a word, Marlowe got up and grabbed the remains of breakfast. Without making eye contact with Happy, she marched off to the kitchen and slammed the door to what was probably her room just off to the side.

* * *

_**Charming, CA – Monday, May 17, 2010** _

"You know, I don't make a habit of rescuing little bitches and bringing them home to Ma," Happy said as he sat next to Marlowe on the bed. "You were the first, last and only."

Marlowe looked up at Happy through her thick lashes. The sting of shame she still felt after all these years made it hard for her to look him in the face. "I never really did thank you for what you did—"

"Marley, don't," Happy stopped her. The thought of the pedophile neighbor Shannon had entrusted to watch over her young daughter on work nights still made his skin crawl. Of all the smiley face tats on his torso, the one he got for that kill had been the most satisfying.

After that first night with Shannon Guthrie, Happy had made it a habit of stopping by for an overnight visit whenever he was in Bakersfield. If he was honest with himself, it hadn't been the stripper pussy that had drawn him back time and again. After meeting young Marlowe, Happy couldn't forget the forlorn look in the little girl's wise gray eyes. It was obvious that the precocious child was being neglected and he just wanted to make sure that the kid was doing okay.

Saturday morning cartoons over giant bowls of cereal became a ritual for them. Before sneaking out on Shannon, Happy would slip Marlowe a few extra bucks so she could properly feed herself when her mother was working. Some six months into his "relationship" with the stripper, Child Protective Services had come calling, threatening to remove the child from the home if Shannon didn't make sure she attended school regularly and hired a babysitter to watch her while she worked. In order to placate the social worker, Shannon paid her next door neighbor Nadine, a woman pushing eighty if she was a day, to keep an eye on Marlowe.

Nadine was old, feeble and sickly and usually in bed before the end of Jeopardy, hours before Shannon's shifts at Nasty Boots even started. Instead of saying no to an easy $100 a week, Nadine had tasked her 50 year old bachelor son who still lived at home to check up on Marlowe a couple of times during the night.

He readily agreed and soon after that, the abuse started.

"Why did you?" Marlowe asked quietly, causing Happy to look at her quizzically. "Rescue me. Why did you do it?"

Happy ran a hand over the five o'clock shadow on his chin. Unlike some of his brothers, Happy had long ago stopped deluding himself, thinking he was one of the good guys because he wasn't. If a situation called for a violent resolution, he never gave it a second thought. Just like there had been no question in his mind that the child-molesting creep preying on Marlowe had to be put down like a rabid dog. He had done that, but why the need to rescue Marlowe by basically kidnapping her?

Reconsidering that thought, Happy realized that he hadn't actually kidnapped her because her whore of a mother hadn't cared what happened to the little girl one way or another. The way Shannon saw it, Happy had done her a great favor by giving her daughter to someone else to raise, and it suddenly dawned on Happy that that was why he'd done it.

Knowing that the child was so unloved by the woman who had given her life had actually hurt his heart. Shannon hadn't thought twice about letting Happy take Marlowe and that had almost blown his mind. There was no way for Shannon to know what Happy's plans for the child had been the night he had taken her away and gave her to his Ma. What if it had been the sick fuck of a neighbor that had offered to take her off Shannon's hands? What would have happened to Marlowe then? Shannon had so little fucks to give about the child that she had never questioned either man's motives for being around the little girl.

How could he explain all that to Marlowe without causing her more pain than necessary? More importantly, how could he explain that the doe-eyed little girl she had been had tugged so hard on his heart that all he could think about was protecting her from further harm without outing himself as a pussy?

"I guess there was just something, eh, I don't know," Happy said soberly, shrugging his shoulders. "Annoyingly familiar about your skinny ass."

Marlowe didn't even try to hide her grin. "Oh yeah?"

Happy nodded. "You had a lot of swagger for a smartass little bitch—"

"Still do," Marlowe preened as she threw back her shoulders and straightened her back.

Happy pursed his lips and made little twitchy movements with his mouth to keep himself from smiling. "Yeah, you do," he agreed with faux-annoyance. Suddenly serious, Happy turned his head in order to look Marlowe in the eyes. "I pulled you out of there because I didn't want to see anyone steal that away from you, understand?"

She nodded. "I do," she replied softly, her eyes falling to her hands as they fidgeted on her lap. "But that's not what I wanted to hear, Hap. I was just hoping that you'd done it because you cared about me."

Happy's brow furrowed and he looked at her with a hard glint in his eyes. "Marley, you know I do—"

"NO!" Marlowe blurted out. "No, Hap, I don't know. Don't you understand that's why we haven't spoken in ten years? After I moved in with Tía, all you ever really did was ignore me or order me to stay out of your way. It took me doing a lot of growing up before I understood that you just don't let a lot of people in there," she said, tapping his chest roughly with an index finger, indicating his heart. "But before that, I was in awe of you and I was so blinded by hero worship that I just thought I was some mistake you wished you hadn't made."

For a brief moment, Happy contemplated pulling out his Glock and shooting himself in the head. _All this touchy-feely bullshit is NOT in my wheelhouse_ , he thought grimly.

"Is that why you upped and joined the Navy?" Happy asked, his face screwed up in confused anger. "Because you thought I didn't _care_ about you?"

Marlowe rolled her eyes, reminding Happy of the smart aleck he'd known since she was eight. "Asshole, I joined the Navy because I wanted to be a Seal since I was a kid. By the time I joined, I knew I couldn't be one, but I still wanted to do something that mattered with my life. In spite of what happened—and I don't blame anyone but myself—I have no regrets about joining the Navy. I just—" she hesitated. She was looking at him with big, wide eyes and Happy braced himself for the emotional baggage he knew she was about to unload on him. "You're the closest I've ever come to having a father, Hap. You always protected me like I could only dream a father would. All I ever really wanted from you was to hear you say that . . . you love me. There! I said it," Marlowe jumped up and started pacing the small room.

Happy looked around the room dismally, as if scoping out an escape route. "I didn't think I had to say the goddamn words, Marlowe! I thought my actions spoke for themselves."

Marlowe spun around to face him. "Amelia said it to me all the time. Even Ceci, who was always riding my ass about my grades, showed me more affection than you ever did. I'd count the days until your next visit, only to start counting the seconds until you left once you got there, you were such a cold bastard. Why would you treat me with such kindness in the beginning only to treat me like a leper after? Was it something I did?" she asked forlornly. "And don't say joining the fuckin' Navy because this shit goes farther back than the last ten years."

Happy just looked at her, his poker face firmly in place once again and impassive. He didn't know how to respond to that. He knew the answer, but there was no way to give it to her straight without ripping scabs off old wounds for Marlowe. The truth was, after removing Marlowe from her mother's house, Happy didn't know how to act around her. She had been repeatedly molested by a sick geezer posing as a family friend. The last thing Happy wanted to do was scare the little girl by showering her with affection. He didn't want to confuse her or lose her trust. He would not have been able to live with himself if Marlowe had ever looked at him with the kind of fear she had in her eyes whenever the next door neighbor came into her orbit.

The moment he'd seen it, that look had tipped Happy off to the fact that something was wrong. It had prompted him to question Marlowe until she had fallen apart, sobbing in his arms. He had kept his distance after that because he wanted her to be safe in the knowledge that he would never hurt her like that.

Happy stood up and approaching Marlowe, did something he thought he'd never do again after finding out about the neighbor. He pulled her into his arms and hugged her.

* * *

Marlowe's head was spinning as she felt herself pressed against the hard planes of Happy's muscled torso. Her arms went limp at her sides, her mind trying to come up with an explanation as to what was going on when it suddenly hit her and she burst into tears.

_He's hugging me!_

Bringing her arms up to wrap around his lean mid-section, Marlowe squeezed him tight as she sobbed into his kutte. She felt him stiffen uncomfortably and knew that this was probably more emotion than he thought he could handle. She actually wanted to stop crying in order to laugh out loud when he suddenly relaxed, running his large, rough hands over her hair as he tried soothing her.

"I'm sorry, Marley," Happy whispered, his voice thick and gravelly. "You did nothing wrong. I'm the big fuckin' asshole for never letting you know how much I love you. You, Ma, Ceci—you're all the blood I have. I don't care whose DNA made you, you _are_ my blood, little girl. You get that?"

Marlowe nodded against his chest before pulling herself away. There was no sense in making this any harder on him than she knew it already was by lingering in his embrace. Swiping at her teary eyes with trembling hands, Marlowe nodded. "I get it and for the record," she managed to smile. "I love you too." Happy stood stiffly, rooted to the spot, his face pulled into a grimace and looking as uncomfortable as Marlowe was sure he felt. "Jesus, Hap! Relax. I won't make you say it again for a really long time, okay? Maybe once every ten years, I promise."

"Needy bitches," he mumbled under his breath before cracking a genuine smile. Now that that was over, however, Happy refused to let Jax have one up on him regarding his own blood. "What the fuck is fragging?"

Marlowe sighed heavily. _Should have known it wasn't going to be that easy_.

"I'll tell you everything you want to know, Hap," Marlowe promised, grabbing her jacket. "But you're taking me out for a real dinner, preferably before I pass out."

* * *

"So," Amelia said soberly, "now you know, hijo."

"No thanks to you," Happy groused.

Sitting in an armchair next to her in the day room of the rehab center, Happy took in his mother's wry expression. Even though Amelia was a little tweaked that he had pulled her out of the Bingo game currently underway in the recreation area, Happy figured her attitude would adjust itself once he took her to task for withholding information on Marlowe.

"You knew all about Marley while I was inside and didn't tell me shit, Ma," he started, a little pissed himself by Amelia's lack of remorse as she interrupted him.

"No, I didn't, hijo, and so what?" his mother replied flippantly. "Marley confided in me and it wasn't my story to tell." She watched as her son's face contorted into a grimace.

"I have the right to know the good and the bad as far as my family is concerned. How can I keep you all safe if you keep hiding shit from me? Instead, you sent me these talky, bullshit letters about Mrs. Alvarez and her dick of a husband when you could have clued me into what Marley was going through," Happy retorted.

Amelia sighed. "Yes, I could have, but this was something you and Marley needed to work out yourselves and it had to wait until she was ready. She's as stubborn as you are, so I'm surprised she told you anything at all. Consider yourself lucky, especially since it could have been much, much worse, hijo. She's _alive_."

"Yeah, I guess you're right about that," he grumbled.

Discovering that Marlowe had spent six months of confinement in what was basically a military prison had shocked him to the core, the last thing the SAA had ever expected to hear. Although Marlowe had tried brushing him off, Happy had been intent on getting the full story and had taken Marlowe out for a decent meal with the caveat that she would finally unburden herself by coming clean with all the details.

Sitting across from him in the small booth of Hanna's Diner, Marlowe explained what fragging meant—the deliberate killing of an unpopular senior officer, usually with an anti-personnel fragmentation grenade. As his sister poured out the story, he sat in silence.

" _Our base commander was a real fuckin' piece of work," Marlowe had begun. "On the one hand, he was young and idealistic, but with a flip of a switch he could also be a self-entitled macho prick. He came from a somewhat wealthy family with deep ties rooted in Washington. I had just finished additional training stateside for my FMF rating and was deployed to his base in Kabul. It didn't take me long to get a read on this guy and it was clear that he wasn't very popular with the men under his command. He was so transparent about his aspirations, wanting to make a name for himself as a big war hero, and his men resented him for it."_

" _Asswipe was setting himself up for a life after war in politics?" Happy guessed and she nodded._

" _That's what everyone assumed, especially after he made a couple of really boneheaded calls, exposing more than a few Marines to danger. The last call he made, however, cost lives," Marlowe looked down into her coffee cup. "A cell of suspected Taliban extremists had targeted a residential area_ _with the intent of destroying_ _a clandestine school for girls. They bombed an entire_ _four-_ _block_ _radius_ _, killing a lot of innocents in the process. By the time U.S. forces caught wind, they had taken off into in the foothills of the mountainous region. Instead of sending a recon team to search the area, the base commander decided to give chase, sending a platoon to flush out and eliminate the insurgents," she said quietly. "Do I even have to tell you that he led us right into a fuckin' slaughter?"_

" _Shit," Happy growled._ _She could have been killed_ _, he thought bitterly._

" _Before we could even tell our asses from our elbows, we were pinned down and fighting for survival. Two Marines went down during the first barrage of gunfire—there was nothing I could do for them. For a while, we managed to hold our position without additional casualties, but—"_

" _But?" Happy prodded._

" _But not for long. A_ _newbie, a grunt on his first tour caught a grenade. He was our front scout and had tried talking the Commander out of going into this narrow ravine in further pursuit of the insurgents, but he wouldn't listen. Lance Corporal Michaels got hit with a grenade and it was bad. His legs were mangled and it was either amputate or lose him." Marlowe lifted her eyes up to Happy's. "I had to do it, right there, with bullets flying over my head."_

" _Damn, little girl."_

" _By the time reinforcements were able to extract us, we lost two more Marines and four were wounded. It was just me and one other Corpsman and we were neck deep in shit. We made it out by the skin of our teeth, except for Michaels. I couldn't save him. If_ _I_ _had, there would have been no way for the Commander to pin the blame for this shit storm on him. Two days later, three Marines who survived the mission threw several grenades into his command tent and blew him to hell."_

" _He deserved that shit."_

 _Marlowe nodded. "_ _He made decisions that cost people their lives and he took peace of mind from those that survived, so yeah, he deserved to be punished. It was still murder and even though I can't defend what those young men did, I sure as hell understand why they did it."_

" _How did you end up wrapped up in this mess, Marley?" Happy asked dumbfounded._

" _I took an oath, Hap. I mean, I'm not a doctor, but I was entrusted with the health and well-being of the men I served with and when two of those involved came to me with burn wounds," Marlowe shrugged her shoulders and sighed. "I took care of them. I hadn't even heard about_ _the_ _base commander getting blown to bits yet, but something told me that shit was off. I patched them up anyway because that was my job. Those bandaged up wounds made them suspects, which led them directly to me, making me a co-conspirator because I didn't report those injuries after learning about the attack. Apparently, the asshole had connections and they were pressing the higher ups to make an example out of everyone—me included." She lifted angry eyes to meet Happy's. "I'd like to think that my military record spoke for itself, but had those injured Marines not testified during their court-martial that I had nothing to do with the fragging, I wouldn't be sitting here right now. I wasn't discharged after confinement, but this temporary disability leave is just for show. After my maximum amount of time on leave is up, I'll get the boot. I just know it."_

Now as he sat with his mother, although Happy despised what had been done to her, he couldn't help but feel grateful that Marlowe had escaped with her life, even if the Navy was calling the leave "temporary". His little sister wasn't a rat and had paid the price because of it, but now that she was home, as far as Hap was concerned, it was all in the past and would stay there. He wasn't, however, going to let his mother off the hook for keeping him out of the loop.

"You and me are going to have to come to a new understanding 'bout not hiding shit from me, but I guess all that matters is that Marley's back now. In a couple of months, you'll be back on your feet and back home in Bakersfield, and you're taking her back with you, too."

"I'm not a child, Kique," Amelia retorted. "I can handle my shit and Marlowe needs to start living her own life again—wherever she chooses to do so."

"Bullshit," he retorted angrily. "You need someone looking after you."

"Aye, don't start," Amelia lamented. "After all, I'm the long-suffering mother of two jailbird children, praying that you both keep your shit together so that no one goes back inside. I'm too old for this shit," she said in a no nonsense tone.

"Yeah, Ma, a'ight already. Stop chewing on my ass," Happy replied before standing up to kiss her on the forehead. "Be good," he threw over his shoulder before heading for the door.

"I always am," she called out to him.

_It's worrying about the two of you that's going to put my ass in an early grave._

* * *

**Glossary**

Pendejo (slang) - idiot, stupid or dumbass


	20. Chapter 20

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sons of Anarchy. I do, however, own Marlowe and any other OCs that appear in the 2 Sons Universe.**

* * *

_**Thursday, May 20, 2010** _

_For an old man, he certainly has a lot of get up and go_ , Marlowe thought wryly as she sped up on the I-5N.

The Harley-Davidson Tri Glide Ultra may have looked like an upscale combination of tricycle and lawnmower, but it was anything but. If truth be told, Marlowe wondered if Happy was having a hard time keeping up as she eyed her brother riding along side Piney.

It was a beautiful clear spring day as the trio made their way to Rogue River for the express purpose of buying black-market 'scripts.

The last few days had seen Marlowe spending much of her time tooling around NorCal gathering up the needed supplies for her med kit. Built to rival anything that she had carried on her back during her three tours of duty, the huge black backpack now held nearly twenty-five pounds of medical supplies—about half of what she was used to carrying—to fit every possible scenario. All that was missing were the antibiotics and painkillers she may someday need and her kit would be complete.

As promised, Piney Winston—when nudged significantly by his President—had managed to sober himself up enough to reach out to his contact. It apparently paid to have connections, Marlowe marveled, as they had set out the very next day to make the 5½-hour trek to Oregon for the meet. The Impala, which Jax had arranged for her on loan, was a smooth ride. Even though it was at least twenty years old, it was in excellent working condition. Having it at her disposal had been a godsend considering how busy she had been between shopping, running errands and visiting Amelia daily.

 _Yeah, it certainly does pay to have the right connections_ , she smiled to herself.

Seeing Piney throw on his right signal, Marlowe did the same as they collectively headed towards the next exit.

Having grown up in Bakersfield, Marlowe had never been this far up north before and found the particularly rugged terrain of southwestern Oregon wildly picturesque. It was the perfect time of year to enjoy a scenic drive through the area. What Marlowe hadn't expected, however, was to be dragged off the grid to the back of the beyond in her efforts to score the drugs she needed.

Pulling off the highway behind Happy and Piney, she followed them through a series of back roads before turning onto a dirt road, which—no exaggeration—was more akin to a foot trail. As the sedan dipped and bucked its way through a tight copse of trees and bushes, Marlowe hoped that the undercarriage of the low-riding vehicle could withstand the area better suited for driving an SUV. Fucking up the VP's car was not in her budget as she would need most of the lump sum paid to her by the Club to get back on her feet once she returned to Bakersfield.

Finally, after several miles trudging along at a snail's pace, the small caravan broke through a thicket of trees, spilling into a well-hidden clearing. Pulling her car to a stop under a large tree, Marlowe got out, pushing her sunglasses up into her loose hair in order to fully appreciate the beautiful natural surroundings. Over to her right, Marlowe spotted a decently-sized house. Painted in shades of dark greens and browns, it looked warm and inviting even though it almost blended into the background of surrounding trees.

"Shit," she murmured aloud. "You'd never know it was back here. Excellent camouflaging," she said approvingly.

"That's the point, darlin'," Piney said as he limped over to her. "C'mon, now. Let's get this show on the road."

Walking next to Piney, with Happy following silently behind them, Marlowe watched avidly as she saw movement in the house through the curtained windows. A moment later, the front and screen doors flew open.

"Oh my, look who stopped by to pay me a visit," a woman drawled, leaning against the door frame.

Marlowe raised an eyebrow as Piney made his way up the steps and, grabbing the slender woman by the shoulders, bent over to give her an intimate kiss on the lips. "Hey, there sweetheart."

"There's nothing sweet about me, you old coot," she replied as she brushed back a strand of red hair that escaped the pony tail at the top of her head. "And I see you brought familiar company." She smiled and, to Marlowe's surprise, offered a hand to Happy. "And how are you doing, handsome?"

"I'm fine, ma'am."

 _Ma'am_? Marlowe thought perplexed. _I thought it was always 'bitch'._

"How's your mother doing?"

"Pretty good, thanks," Happy replied, somewhat pleasantly. "You really helped me out with those meds."

"I always pay my debts," the woman replied with a smile. "Now, please, introduce me to your friend here."

"This here's my sister, Marlowe. Marley, this is Honey," Happy said.

"So you're the Club's new doctor, huh?" Honey's attractive but slightly wrinkled face smiled as she held out her hand to shake Marlowe's. "Piney mentioned you when he called, even though he _conveniently_ forgot to mention how pretty you are. Nice to know somebody's around to watch out for this old coot."

"Baby, I may be old, but there's still plenty of fire left in the ol' furnace," Piney winked at her and Marlowe was astonished to see the woman, who had to be at least 55, blush.

 _Get out_ , Marlowe discreetly coughed a smile into her hand. _The old biker's got game_.

"Well, come on in. No point standing on the porch all day," Honey invited.

Walking inside, Marlowe took note of the homey, bohemian-style furnishings in the living room before they made their way past the kitchen. Heading towards the back of the house, Marlowe nearly tripped over a red tabby cat before being ushered into a small room. Watching as Honey pulled on a cord that was discreetly hidden, suddenly a small door popped open, and the woman ushered them inside.

"Damn," Marlowe murmured with the kind of wonderment seen only in children in candy stores. "This is a fuckin' gold mine."

"You can best believe that shit," Honey grinned. "Fortunately, I have a group of honest bikers looking out for me and I have you to thank, Piney. With the word out that I'm under Rogue River's protection, those scum-sucking pissant peckerwoods haven't dared show their faces around here again."

"Just part of the service, darlin'," Piney replied. "Now, I hope you can help my new friend out here, as well as hook me up with my emphysema meds. Vet insurance is a right unfriendly bitch."

"You know I'll always take care of you, Piney," Honey ran a hand over the front of his denim kutte before turning to look at Marlowe. "Gurl, your eyes are as wide as a kid's on Christmas morning. So what can I do you for?"

Reaching into the back pocket of her jeans, Marlowe pulled out a list. "Do you have this stuff in stock?"

Honey plucked the reading glasses that were perched on her head and ran her blue eyes over the list. "If I don't have it, it can't be got. I think we can handle all of this with no problem." Bending down to grab an empty cardboard box from underneath a table, she grinned. "Just give me a minute while I fill your order, then we'll talk payment."

* * *

 _Dang, even an old geezer has a better chance of getting laid than I do_ , Marlowe lamented.

Sitting at the bar, Marlowe used the plastic black stirrer with the head of a silver embossed reaper to stir her club soda and lime. Using the pointed edge to spear one of the two olives floating in the glass, Marlowe crunched down on the salty treat.

It had been a long day. Rising before the crack of dawn, Marlowe had to sacrifice her daily workout in order to get an early start on the road trip to Oregon for her 'scripts. Riding with two ornery bikers, however, had been well worth the sacrifice as they certainly made the trip eventful. Between Piney and Happy, they knew every highway, by-way and shortcut imaginable. That handy piece of biker knowledge, along with cruising at least at 75 miles an hour, had cut the normally 5½-hour journey down to only 4 hours.

 _Those two are even better than Google Maps!_ Marlowe smiled to herself.

However, she hadn't been smiling at the prospect of having to make the trip back to Charming on her own. After finalizing their business transaction for the meds Marlowe and Piney had come for, Honey had invited them to stay for lunch. Surprisingly, Marlowe found herself having an enjoyable afternoon as the foursome ate delicious food and cracked open some beers as Piney related the story of how Happy had been introduced to Honey, including a multi-charter shoot out with the aforementioned Meth-dealing peckerwoods. Several hours had passed before Marlowe figured they would soon wear out their welcome and had pushed Happy into making an excuse to leave.

But apparently, for at least one member of their group, the party was just about to get started. With a knowing wink aimed at his brother, Piney announced that he was _too tired_ to make the trip all the way back to Charming. Honey, as if on cue, quickly offered to put him up for the night. In an obvious hurry to get their quality time underway, Piney wasted no time in getting rid of the two third-wheels.

So it had been something of a surprise to Marlowe that, once Happy had gotten them back onto the main highway, he announced that he too was bailing on her ass. He had made the trip with the intention of spending the night at the Rouge River Clubhouse, leaving her to make her way back to Charming alone.

Getting back to the Clubhouse in the early evening, Marlowe spent the next hour refitting her med kit with the new drug supply. Thinking that she might have time to head over to Modesto for a visit with Amelia, who she hadn't heard from all day, Marlowe's call went unanswered in her room. Getting bumped to the main floor switchboard, one of the rehab nurses informed Marlowe that Amelia, after having an early dinner, had made her way down to the recreational room to socialize with what her Tía fondly called the "other inmates."

So finding herself at a loss for something to do, Marlowe made her way out to the bar with her sketch book in hand to find some shit to occupy her time. As usual, even for a weeknight, the Clubhouse was comfortably crowded. There were a number of members and hang-arounds relaxing on the couches or shooting pool while classic rock played in the background through the hidden speakers throughout the Clubhouse's main room.

Filthy Phil was manning the bar and she had asked him to fix her a non-alcoholic drink, which Marlowe now eyed with a grim eye. _To hell with alcohol and Xanax not mixing_ , she pushed away her glass. _I need to cut loose a little bit. Maybe some whiskey will do the trick_.

As if someone had been reading her mind, the low, sexy voice of the drink she was really thirsty for came from behind, close to her ear and sending delicious shivers down her spine. _And doing naughty things to my nipples_ , Marlowe smiled to herself.

"How's it hanging, Doc?" Jax Teller asked before sliding around the bar to face Marlowe. "I haven't seen you around all day."

 _And believe me, darlin', I was looking_.

It had been a quiet day on the lot. With Happy and Piney on a road trip with Marlowe, and Kozik and Tig picking up the slack in the garage while Wade recovered, Jax had spent most of the day locked in the Chapel going over the books with Bobby and then later writing in his journal. Nothing he did, however, succeeded in occupying his mind for long as the SAMCRO President was starting to feel the walls close in on him. He was at the end of his fuckin' rope and felt like an asshole because of it, and all because he was about to lose his fuckin' mind if he didn't get his dick into some willing pussy.

It had been over a week since Tara had last rejected his advances—a rejection that still stung bitterly. For years, Jackson Teller had indulged in the endless parade of pussy through the Clubhouse since the day Tara Knowles had walked out of his life. It partially shamed him that, in a moment of weakness, he actually admitted to her that every time he had been inside a woman, it had been her face he'd seen. He had certainly meant it when he said it and in the months that followed, as the shit had gotten increasingly worse for the Club, Tara had been his oasis, his soothing balm when everything around him went sideways.

After getting out of Stockton, however, the realization that things were no longer the same between them and that the woman who claimed to love him seemed to be slowly pulling away hit Jax like a punch to the gut. Last night had only served to confirm that fact.

After finding every manner possible to avoid having sex with him, Tara had finally relented. It had taken some work to get her in the mood, but when she was finally on board, it hadn't been the same. To Jax, it seemed as if they were just going through the motions, nothing like it had been between them in the past—either as horny teenagers or as reunited lovers after the death of Agent Joshua Kohn.

Towards the end of their encounter, Jax had finally hit his stride and had come, but it was probably the first time in his life he wasn't sure if he had satisfied his partner or not. What had actually caught him off guard, as the ache of physical need finally left his body with his much-needed release and he flung himself onto his back next to his old lady, was realizing that he hadn't been thinking of Tara.

He had been thinking about Marlowe.

Now as he stared at her over the bar, Jax was fast coming to the conclusion that he wasn't interested in getting lukewarm love from his old lady. He wanted some hot, her-ankles-on-his-shoulders sex with the woman sitting in front of him, making her come so hard there would be no doubt in his mind.

Feeling a sense of relief in finally admitting that to himself, Jax suddenly smiled, his lips spreading over gleaming white teeth. His animal magnetism was literally leaping off of him in waves, landing on Marlowe Guthrie and she instantly knew she was in for a shit load of trouble.

Nonetheless, she didn't hesitate in grinning right back at him.

"That's 'cause I was on a little buying trip today," she said. "It's now official: SAMCRO is ready to face any outside threat. Your medic is fully locked and loaded."

"Yes you are," Jax said as he poured two fingers of Jack. "You want, or are you still on the wagon?" He offered her the glass.

"Not tonight, outlaw," she replied with a flirty smile. Taking the glass of whiskey, their fingers grazed and their eyes locked. "Tonight I'm cutting myself loose."

"Well, I guess I showed up just in time, huh?" Jax grinned and grabbed another glass and the bottle of Jack. "Let's go make ourselves more comfortable."

Marlowe slid off the stool, grabbing her drink and her sketchpad. "Sounds like a plan."

* * *

Sitting on one of the couches in the far recesses of the main room, Jax and Marlowe sat undisturbed as the buzz of activity surrounded them. Nearly an hour had passed since they had moved their conversation over to the couch and the flirting had long since morphed into heavy sexual innuendo. Although Marlowe had intended to let herself off the chain by getting more than a little tipsy, she decided it would be wiser to pull back and nurse the one drink she had. If she was reading the signals Jax was casually throwing at her correctly—and she knew she was—Marlowe wanted to be completely present and sober when she finally let the SAMCRO President into her pants.

Instead, Marlowe encouraged him—in between their flirting—to talk about the history of the Club and the memorabilia that was scattered throughout the Clubhouse. She was sitting against the armrest opposite Jax, facing him with her long denim-clad legs on the couch and bent at the knees. With her sketchbook open and resting against her lap, Marlowe listened, letting the pencil in her hand drift lazily over the page as she repeatedly looked from her drawing and up to Jax.

"Shit, Doc. I've been talking my fuckin' head off here for the last hour. What the hell are you doing over there?" Jax challenged.

Marlowe smiled coyly, looking him over as he was stretched out comfortably, his sneakered feet crossed at the ankles and resting on the coffee table. With one arm hanging over the armrest, he held onto his glass, the heavy silver SONS rings glinting in the light. The other arm was stretched over the back of the couch, a cigarette dangling between his fingers.

"I'm just having a little fun," Marlowe replied cheekily. "Isn't that allowed in your clubhouse?"

"Only when I say so," he shot back with a wink and a smile.

Perching his smoke between his lips, Jax let his now-free hand fall onto Marlowe's leg, slowly dragging it up to her knee. Distracting Marlowe with the electricity he sent coursing through her body, Jax leaned forward and snagged the sketchbook from her. Flipping it over, he found he was looking at himself.

 _Not bad_ , he thought with some admiration. She had captured everything about him, right down to the little smirk that was plastered on his face.

"Shit, I look like I'm about to devour your ass."

"Yeah, you do," she murmured softly. "So when you gonna get to it?"

Darkened blue eyes met heather gray ones, the gold flecks in them seemingly shining brighter.

"I thought good girls waited to be asked," Jax drawled a hint of a smile on his lips.

"I wouldn't know. I never said I was a _good_ _girl_ ," Marlowe replied with a smirk of her own. "What I am is a woman who wants to get laid. But if you're not offering, we can call it a night and I can go to bed all by myself," she said teasingly.

Jax chuckled and shook his head. "Walk away from me now and I'll tackle your ass to the ground, darlin'," he replied calmly.

Marlowe threw her head back and laughed. "You sure do talk a lot of shit, Pres."

Jax flashed her a wolfish grin. "Go ahead, Doc," he prodded. "Try me and we'll see who's talking shit."

 _Damn, better not call his bluff 'cause he will do it,_ she thought with some amusement, noting the hot look he was giving her.

"Okay," Marlowe smiled. "But can we move our private party to another location?" she suggested and Jax cocked an inquiring eyebrow at her. "I know sex in public seems to be the norm around here, but that's really not my game. I'd prefer getting my freak on without the entire Clubhouse knowing about it. How about I make a quick pit stop in my room before heading out for a drive? We can meet up along the way."

"That's the best fuckin' plan I've heard all day, darlin'," Jax replied and paused a moment to think, his eyes never leaving hers. "You know The Hairy Dog?"

"Yeah, on Crescent and Main, right?"

He nodded. "Meet me there in fifteen."

Grabbing her sketchbook back from Jax, Marlowe stood up and crossed over his legs still perched on the coffee table. "Don't keep me waiting all night," she said softly. "Oh, and make sure you bring plenty of rubbers 'cause you're gonna need 'em, Pres."

Jax watched Marlowe's long and lean form retreat to the dorm area as he rubbed the lower half of his face in an attempt to hide his salivating grin. Fuck! And he thought he was about to jump out of his skin _before_. The next fifteen minutes were going to prove the longest of his life. Taking a deep breath, Jax downed the remainder of his whiskey, deciding to wait a couple of minutes before heading out to his bike. Standing up, he placed his empty glass on the coffee table and turned as he heard someone calling for him.

"Yo, Pres," V-Lin said as he hurriedly approached him. "I was just in the office. Your old lady's on the line. Says she's been trying to reach you on your cell phone."

 _Shit!_ Jax grimaced as he pulled his prepay from the inside pocket of his kutte. He had forgotten to turn it back on after his meeting with Bobby.

Making his way towards the Clubhouse exit, his conscience suddenly started beating on him with every step he took. Torn, but not wanting to cancel his rendezvous with Marlowe, Jax headed across the lot to take Tara's call, oblivious to the fact that, ultimately, it wouldn't be his choice to make.

* * *

Slamming the door to her dorm shut before locking it, Marlowe made her way back towards the bar.

Never the girly-type when it came to clothes, she was practically clueless when it came to fashion. In the past, that fact had never affected her ability to attract the opposite sex and even though that seemed to be the case with Jax Teller now, Marlowe had big enough eyes to notice the perpetual state of undress of most of the women on the lot. However, not interested in mimicking the whole working class slutty whore-look, Marlowe always made sure she owned at least one decent set of sexy underwear. Although Jax seemed a clothing optional type of man, she was sure even he would appreciate the tastefully erotic garnet red and black lacy bra and panties she had made the trip to her dorm to change into.

 _And if all goes according to plan, this will be the one and only time I get to wear 'em after he rips them right off me_ , she thought with a grin.

Having had the opportunity to observe him more closely now that she had settled into living at the Clubhouse, Marlowe couldn't help but wonder what was up with the Club President. As far as she could tell, Jax rarely, if ever, indulged himself with the various women practically throwing themselves at him on the lot. Sure, he allowed them to fetch and carry for him like a bunch of dutiful servants, but he always seemed to treat them with a wink and a smile. Almost in a gentlemanly manner, Marlowe realized, if a gentleman outlaw biker could actually exist in this crazy MC universe.

 _Whatever!_ she said to herself. Now wasn't the time to think about Jax Teller and other women, not when the thought of spreading her own legs for him had the sexual tension coiled up in the pit of her belly. To her great surprise, Marlowe realized how tightly she was wound by nervous excitement and anticipation. _Maybe having just one drink wasn't a good idea after all_ , Marlowe chastised herself, figuring that a little Dutch courage in the form of a tequila shot would be just the ticket to calm her down before heading out for her hook up with Jax.

The decision to make one additional pit stop on her way out had been the fatal flaw in her plans for the evening and later, Marlowe would bitterly regret making it. After all, whoever said that ignorance was bliss knew what the fuck they were talking about. Instead, thanks to SAMCRO's resident Gossip Girls, Marlowe would learn more about Jax than she needed to know if her plans had been to fuck his brains out.

Approaching the bar, Marlowe grinned wryly at the two patches lined up at the bar.

"Hey, Tiggy! Look who's joining the party," Kozik raised a beer at her. "Come on, Doc. Take a load off," he invited.

"Yeah, doll," Tig chimed in as he rolled a joint. "We haven't seen you all day."

"Just for a minute," she said before asking Filthy Phil for a shot of tequila. "I'm actually on my way out to check on Amelia," she improvised.

Kozik took a look at his watch. "It's kind of late, don'tcha think? Ain't visiting hours over by now?" he asked.

"Yeah, but I got an in with one of the nurses," she replied hastily. "She'll let me in for a little bit."

"So where are Hap and Piney?" Tig asked as he lit his joint. "I thought the old man was taking you up to Oregon to get your meds."

"He did and then dumped me for a 'sleepover' with Honey," Marlowe made air quotes and grinned as Kozik rolled his eyes. "Happy decided to visit the Rouge River charter while he was up there."

Kozik shook his head. "It never ceases to amaze me how much game that old man has left."

"Speaking of game, where's Jax?" Tig turned to eye the Prospect who was busy pulling beers for a waiting croweater.

"Oh, V-Lin said he's in the office taking a call from Tara," Phil replied as he slid another beer across the bar. "Said he'd be heading out for a ride after."

Marlowe quirked an eyebrow. _Tara_? _Who the fuck's Tara_?

"Tara? She another croweater?" she asked nonchalantly, her fingers and toes figuratively crossed.

"Nah, Doc. Tara is Jax's old lady," Kozik replied after taking a hit from Tig's joint and passing it back to him.

_What. The. Fuck?_

Marlowe moistened her suddenly dry lips. "He's married," she managed to say casually in spite of the anger simmering just below the surface.

_How the fuck did I not sense that shit_ _?_

"Nah, they ain't legal and shit," Tig said as he blew out a trail of smoke, "but they been together on and off since they were kids."

Marlowe slowly pushed her untouched shot away from her. "Well, isn't that— _sweet_?" she managed to say through tightly drawn lips.

Far from being a prude, Marlowe wasn't in a position to make snap judgments about how people conducted their personal relationships. After all, she had no illusions about men in general and Happy's brothers in particular. Many men, not just hardcore bikers, would consider stepping out on their women as no big deal. Sex was just sex as long as they came home at night, right? Obviously, Jax Teller wasn't any different or as gentlemanly as she had thought.

Marlowe refused to acknowledge to herself, however, how disappointed she was about that.

Although Marlowe had no problem with jumping head first into some shit, there were some lines she wasn't interested in crossing. Had she found out about Jax's old lady _after_ the fact, there wouldn't have been much she could have done about it then. She would have just chalked it up to water under what she knew would have been a deliciously erotic bridge. Knowledge of it _now_ , however, was enough to make her pull back.

"Well, I better head out. I have the prepay Juice gave me in case of an emergency. I think you're right, Koz. It is too late to check on Hap's mom. I'm gonna go catch a movie instead," Marlowe said as she gripped her backpack against her shoulder. "Maybe even a double feature."

"You sure about that, doll? You'd have a better time hanging out with us," Tig suggested. "Now that you have some cash, I feel obligated to try and relieve you of some of that shit. Maybe we can shoot some pool or play a little strip poker," he said wiggling his eyebrows.

"Not tonight, jarhead," Marlowe shot back. "Even though I am pretty deadly with a cue stick, especially when I start swinging it," she said with some heat as she thought about a certain blond-haired biker she wouldn't mind taking a swipe at with a pool cue.

"A'ight. Next time then," he called after her as he and Kozik watched Marlowe's long-legged stride as she stomped towards the exit.

"Shit, did it suddenly get cold in here or what?" Kozik noted. "You get the feeling Doc's a little pissed right now?"

"Are you gonna grow some tits to go along with that pussy of yours?" Tig teased. "Damn, you're turning into a bitch, getting all in touch with your feminine side and shit."

Kozik shook his head as he took the ice cold beer offered to him by the Prospect. "Nah, bro. I'm serious. Something's up with her. It was almost like a fuckin' light switch just went off. She was in a good mood one second and the next she looked like she wanted to step on somebody's nuts."

"Why you gotta complicate shit?" Tig complained. "Broads are broads. There's no figuring them out."

"Maybe she's upset about Tara," Filthy Phil chimed in as he dried off some glasses with a bar towel.

In unison, Tig and Kozik turned to look at him. "What the fuck you talkin' about?" Kozik asked.

"She was fine until you mentioned Tara being the Pres' old lady," Phil replied. Seeing that neither patch was getting the picture, he continued, "Before you got here, Jax and Marlowe were pretty cozy-looking hanging out on the couch over there."

Tig's blue eyes widened crazily. "Holy shit, brother," he laughed, slamming his multi-ringed hand onto the back of Kozik's kutte several times. "You just cock-blocked Jax Teller!"

About to open his mouth to argue the point, it finally dawned on Kozik. "Fuck! He's gonna patch me out of SAMCRO, ain't he?"

Tig sobered up quickly. "Nah, bro," he assured him, much to Kozik's relief, which was short-lived. "If you're lucky, he'll make it quick. A bullet to the back of the head, you won't see it coming." Tig said before he started laughing manically again.

* * *

_**Friday, May 21, 2010** _

Leaning against the Toyota Corolla in one of the bays, Tig lit a cigarette and watched as Jax stomped around the garage. Opening and slamming drawers, the SAMCRO Pres was apparently looking for something that didn't exist and spending a considerable amount of time trying to find it. Finally giving up, Jax threw a wrench clear across the bay, sending it crashing into a pile of hub caps stacked up against the opposite wall before leaving in a huff.

Startled, Kozik pulled his head out from under the hood of the Corolla and stared along with Tig as Jax practically ripped his T-M work shirt off as he headed to the Clubhouse. "Shit, he sure is grumpy today," Kozik noted.

"Uh, you think, princess?" Tig said sarcastically. "And whose fault do you think that is?"

"Shut the fuck up," Kozik replied testily. Hearing the Clubhouse door slam violently from clear across the lot, Kozik shook his head mournfully. "I'm really in the shit, ain't I?"

"If Jax ever finds out that you're the cloud that rained on his parade, you'll be six feet deep in it, brother," Tig said with faux-sorrow. "Kozy, this may be worse than you losing that crate of guns to those ghetto babies and Jax almost kicked your ass then."

"Fuck, Tig! Who knew Doc was clueless about Jax having an old lady?" the blond spiky-haired biker groused as he tossed down the screwdriver he had been working with onto a low bench.

"You know Marley ain't the typical gossipy bitch into everybody's business, bro. She's only been around a few weeks, but I ain't known Doc to poke around in any Club shit," Tig declared.

"Well, how was I supposed to know that I was stepping on some shit between them two?" Kozik stated in his defense. "Besides, it shouldn't have come as a surprise to Marley that Jax has an old lady. She's not like a lot of the women around here, willing to step all over Tara to get their piece of Jax."

Tig nearly choked on his cigarette. "Whoa, whoa, hold on. I like Doc and all, but pussy's pussy, bro. Jax is our brother and if he wanted a piece of that, it's nobody's business but his own that he has an old lady." Tig crossed his arms over his T-M work shirt. "Can't really blame him, you know. That honey pot is smokin'. Wouldn't mind getting my dick wet in that myself."

"You sure don't like living, do ya?" Kozik asked, shaking his head ruefully. "Don't let Happy hear you talking shit about his sister 'cause he _will_ rip your nuts off and serve them up on toothpicks to the prospects."

"Maybe, but not even you can say it wouldn't be worth a shot," Tig replied salaciously. "I think it's pretty clear Jax thought so."

Kozik nodded in agreement. "And he sure was _pissed_ when he came storming back into the Club last night, wasn't he?"

The two men looked at each other and started chuckling as they recalled what they had witnessed the night before.

Having made themselves comfortable on one of the couches with a couple of croweaters after Marlowe had taken off, Tig and Kozik watched as their Pres strode into the Club, making a beeline for the bar. Even over the music playing and raucous chatter and laughter, they clearly heard Jax ask Filthy Phil if he had seen Marlowe. They also heard Phil swallow the massive lump in his throat before informing him that she had headed out to the movies over an hour before.

In spite of the fact that he looked angry enough to spit nails, Jax maintained his cool, grabbing a bottle of Jack from behind the bar before retreating to his room. It was painfully obvious that the "ride" he had ended up taking to clear his head had not been the one he had been hoping for and that Marlowe had indeed bailed on him.

"That look he was sporting last night, that was a biker who wanted to get tangled up in some sheets with a beautiful long-legged bitch, but got blown off instead," Tig shook his head in disbelief. "Shit, that's gotta be a first, man."

"And judging by the wrench he flung across the bay, he's not taking rejection in stride," Kozik noted.

"Why the fuck would he?" Tig asked incredulously. "He's wound so tight lately, I wouldn't be surprised if he wasn't getting any at home either."

"What?!" Kozik scoffed. "You're crazy, Tiggy."

"I am, but that don't mean I don't know what I'm talking about," Tig reasoned. "I know that look, bro. See, you've never had an old lady, but I know what that shit's like. I can tell when shit ain't right at home 'cause I've been there myself. My ex-gash was a professional ball-buster and knew how to make my life fuckin' miserable. First weapon in her arsenal was withholding pussy."

"Nah!" Kozik waved him away. "You think?"

Tig nodded. "Sadly, bro, _I know_. When was the last time you seen Tara around the lot? And Jax just got out of the joint. What's up with him staying in his dorm more often than not lately, _by himself_? Smells like trouble in paradise to me, and your cock-blocking last night didn't help neither."

"Okay, I get it. I fucked up," Kozik exclaimed as he slammed the hood of the Corolla closed. "Can we talk about something else now?"

"Sure," Tig said, shrugging his shoulders. "Bobby has been baking in the Clubhouse all morning. I'm gonna go get me some banana bread and coffee, but if I were you, I'd steer clear, stay out of Jax's way in case Shrek the Prospect dropped the dime on ya," he said before heading across the lot, leaving Kozik behind.

"Gee, thanks!" Kozik said sarcastically. "Hey, bring me some!" he called out after Tig, who gave him the one-finger wave over his head. "Asshole!" Kozik muttered under his breath before heading off to find something else to keep him busy and away from the Clubhouse for now.

* * *

Quietly closing the office door, Gemma leaned against the back of it as she contemplated what she had just overheard.

"Wow!" she exclaimed in a low voice, a barely-there smirk on her face. "My son struck out with the new pussy? Tig's right. That _is_ a first."

The SAMCRO matriarch had spent too many years watching women, young and old alike, chasing after her son from the time he had hit puberty. She found it quite amusing—and somewhat surprising—that a woman did exist after all that was immune to his panty-dropping talents. Undeniably sexy, smart and dangerous, and only getting better looking with age, Jax had the uncanny ability to draw the opposite sex to him like flies on horseshit. That deadly combination had certainly attracted the young and painfully naïve Tara Knowles at sixteen and was probably the reason she had returned to Charming after a ten-year absence.

However, Gemma hadn't needed Tigger to point out that something was off between the new King and Queen of Charming. Her own suspicions that trouble was brewing in the Teller-Knowles household had been confirmed by the fact that Jax had not proposed to Tara as he had planned upon his release from Stockton. Although after meeting Amelia Lowman, Gemma thought she had a better sense about Happy's sister and had resigned herself to having the younger woman hanging around, hearing how Marlowe had spurned Jax did little to ease her mind. Gemma knew her son well and knew how much Jax loved a challenge. It was only a matter of time before he tried pressing up on her again, and maybe next time he'd succeed.

But still, Gemma couldn't help but be impressed by Marlowe Guthrie. Rebuffing Jax's advances because she found out about his old lady showed the young woman had integrity, a commodity sorely missing from the current crop of Club whores. Realizing that she was indeed different served to substantially raise Gemma's opinion of her.

Enough so that Gemma was now willing to extend an olive branch.

* * *

_**Saturday, May 22, 2010** _

Closing the door to her dorm behind her quietly, Marlowe slung a towel over her shoulders as she crossed the hall to the open doorway of the Club's gym. Calling it a "gym", however, might have been too generous, but it was certainly what a man would consider one to be: no elliptical equipment, no treadmill or a recumbent bike—just old school weight lifting machines, benches and a shit load of barbells and weights.

It suited Marlowe just fine and now that she had her own digs in the Clubhouse, Marlowe made use of the gym every day. Out of respect to the patches—after all, it was their Club—she tried to get her workouts in when no one was around. Since she barely slept anyway, getting up at five a.m. had become part of her routine, allowing her to get in a solid hour of weight training before going on a five-mile run for cardio.

After being a part of her daily routine for over a decade, Marlowe missed working out during her first weeks in Charming as she had been busy watching over Amelia. But now that Amelia was settled comfortably at the rehab center, Marlowe could now devote her mornings to keeping her body as sharp as her mind. After shelving her plans to hook up with the SAMCRO Pres indefinitely, she felt the need for a sweaty, aggressive workout. Although it paled in comparison to sweaty, aggressive sex, working out would do in a pinch when the need was to get some sort of release for every muscle in her body that ached with pent up energy.

After weeks of not-so-innocent flirting, Marlowe felt robbed of the opportunity to wake up with a smile on her face after vigorously enjoying some alone time with Jax Teller. Thanks to her blasted need to do the right thing, even to her own detriment, she had decided that ducking out of the situation completely was the way to go. Knowing that meeting Jax at The Hairy Dog to tell him that she had changed her mind and why would have been the decent thing to do, she had been so inexplicably hurt and angry that she didn't want to chance seeing him face-to-face.

Instead, she drove to Stockton to catch a couple of movies and stopped at an all-night diner on her way back before finally pulling onto the lot in the wee hours of Friday morning. Seeing Jax's bike parked outside, Marlowe knew she would have to get creative if she wanted to avoid a surely-to-be pissed off biker for the time being. She resolved to deal with the situation when she got slapped in the face with it. In the meantime, she had kept a low profile around the Clubhouse on Friday and had ducked out as soon as she heard Chibs calling everyone in for Church.

With the Friday night party still going on when she returned a few hours ago, she was able to slip back in unnoticed. She had noticed, however, that Jax's bike had not been parked outside this time around. Frustrated with herself that she would let that simple fact bother her, Marlowe tried to force herself into a fitful sleep. Giving up, she waited until the Clubhouse quieted and got up, deciding to start her day off productively, instead of in hiding.

Accustomed to having the gym to herself at this hour, she was caught off guard by the grunting and groaning of a workout in progress. Thinking it might be Jax, Marlowe ordered herself to turn around and go back to her room. Instead, her ever-belligerent nature kept her from backing down from a possible confrontation. Before she could stop herself, Marlowe poked her head inside and spotted Clay Morrow.

"You gonna stand there in the doorway ogling me all day, Doc?"

Marlowe winced slightly as she realized that she had been spotted practically spying on the man. "Didn't plan on it," she drawled, outwardly unperturbed, as she strolled into the gym and approached the former SAMCRO President.

Wearing a pair of cut-off black sweats and a black tank top, Marlowe watched as Clay continued to do bicep curls with the 50lb barbell in his hand and nodded approvingly at the size of the canons he was rocking despite the fact that he had to be in his early 60's.

Marlowe straddled a bench that was opposite him and watched for another moment before speaking. "I wasn't expecting anyone in here this early. I usually have it to myself at this time of the day, especially on a Saturday."

"Yeah," Clay grunted as perspiration dripped down his forehead. "I wasn't planning on being here either, but I couldn't sleep and thought I'd get a little work out in."

Having imbibed a little more than usual at the after-Church party, Clay decided to stay the night in one of the vacant dorms kept for visiting patches. Unfortunately, his sleep of the dead had been interrupted by the pain in his double-damned arthritic pieces of shit he called hands. Clay was not a man to suffer human weaknesses well, especially in himself. He was definitely from macho stock in that he believed that pain was a man's lot in life. It was up to him as to how he dealt with that pain in a way that would make himself an even better man. So refusing to acknowledge that working shit out with his hands was probably the last thing he should be doing, the stubborn old biker had risen from his bed, threw on some clothes and headed to the gym, determined to prove to himself that he was still the man that he had always been.

Which was why it was a damn shame and a huge embarrassment to him when the large barbell slipped out of his suddenly paralyzed—except for the searing pain—hand and crashed to the floor barely missing his foot.

"Shit!" Clay growled.

"Damn, you all right?" Marlowe asked, concern written all over her face.

"Yeah, yeah," Clay muttered as he avoided looking at her in the eyes as he picked up the towel on the bench next to him to wipe his sweaty face. "The hands just like to give me some shit every once in a while is all."

"Arthritis?" she asked matter-of-factly, mindful to keep her voice devoid of compassion. Over the years, Marlowe had met plenty of combat-tested Vets, especially from Vietnam and she knew that the last thing Clay would want was her pity.

"Yeah. How did you know?" Clay asked with a raised eyebrow. The only thing worse then seeing weaknesses in himself was having other people see them too.

"You mean besides Thing One and Thing Two?" Marlowe grinned, referring to Tig and Kozik, as an irritated look crossed Clay's face.

"Damn gossipy bitches those two, huh?" he muttered.

"Uh yeah," she agreed. "But I could also tell by the swelling," she said reaching for his hand. "May I?"

Clay stared at her for a moment and then figuring what the fuck, stretched out his arm and watched as Marlowe took his huge beefy hand in her own.

"Damn, it's the size of a fuckin' dinner plate," she grinned up at him as she turned his hand over. "I bet this shit has seriously damaged some faces along the way. Probably still can too."

"Damn straight," he said practically preening at the praise.

Allowing her hands to wander slowly at first, Marlowe pressed and pulled at his fingers and joints watching Clay's reaction as he winced.

"I bet the pain and stiffness is worse in the mornings, right?"

"Yeah, hurts like a bitch in the mornings. Gem used to shoot me up every few days, but now it's more like every day," he admitted.

"Cortisone?"

"Yeah."

Marlowe released his hand. "Cortisone is good for a temporary fix and can relieve a lot of the symptoms but it's not a cure all. You consider surgery?"

"Yeah and I ain't letting anybody cut up my hands," Clay grumbled, fixing a stern eye on Marlowe in case, somehow, Gemma had recruited the young woman in her mission to have him go under the knife.

"I get it," she replied thoughtfully as she tried to temper her next words. "It's a good thing you're working out but—"

"But?"

"You might want to consider some alternate exercises. Using heavy weights right now can only aggravate the symptoms, make them worse. Now I know using ten pound weights won't maintain those truly impressive cannons your sporting," Marlowe grinned, "but using smaller weights first won't give your hands a beating, let's them warm up and makes the muscles pliable and ready to tackle heavier weights next. There are a few really good techniques and stretches I can show you that will help limber up your hands. If you do them first thing in the morning before you take the cortisone you may notice a little improvement."

"Yeah?" Clay focused narrow eyes on Marlowe. "You're not shitting me?"

"No shit here," Marlowe promised. "Before 9/11, I worked at the base hospital. Part of my duties included overseeing physical therapy. It won't take but a minute or two to run you through the exercises," she shrugged her shoulders. "It can't hurt."

"Maybe not," Clay conceded. "All right."

"Good. Then grab a couple of ten pound weights and let's get started."

Clay stood up and flashed a flirtatious grin. "Thanks, Doc."

Marlowe gave him a slight and serious nod, grinning as soon as Clay turned his back. Eyeing the stiff movements of his hands, she ran a simple routine of exercises she wanted to start him off with first.

 _Time to start earning my pay_.

* * *


	21. Chapter 21

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sons of Anarchy. I do, however, own Marlowe and any other OCs that appear in the 2 Sons Universe.**

* * *

_**Sunday, May 23, 2010** _

"I don't care if you are a grown ass woman," Happy retorted. "You're going to Gemma's tonight and that's all there is to it, little girl."

Marlowe glared up at him from her cross-legged position on her bed as he towered over her. Their "discussion" on the subject of the upcoming Morrow family dinner had been going on during the wee hours of Sunday morning for quite some time and it looked as if it would never end.

The last thing Marlowe had expected was to see her brother back in the Clubhouse this weekend. With him ditching her in Oregon to hang out with his club brothers at the Rogue River charter, Marlowe figured that he would be hip deep in booze, weed and pussy for the entire weekend. So having him bang on her door literally two seconds after she snuck by yet another raging SAMCRO party was totally unexpected, especially when he dropped the invitation on her.

 _Bullshit! An invitation would imply the option of politely declining. This was more like a fuckin' royal decree_ , she thought a little bitterly.

Marlowe spent the next twenty minutes trying to convince Happy that her going to the Morrows' was a bad idea to no avail. According to her stubborn brother, the issue wasn't up for debate. Yet, Marlowe was just as stubborn and determined to make him see reason, so she kept nagging him.

Thinking she had a surefire way to keep herself out of Dodge, she pitched her next argument. "What about Tía, Hap? We always visit her together on Sundays whenever you're in Charming. We're just gonna _abandon_ her 'cause you got something better to do?"

"Don't use Ma as an excuse," Happy retorted, folding his arms over his chest. "Gemma wants us there by four. That leaves plenty of time to visit Ma for a couple of hours. And why are you complaining anyways? All you ever do is bitch about how tired you are of living on take-out. This is your chance to enjoy a free home-cooked meal that you don't have to fix yourself. Works out considering you can't cook worth shit anyway."

"I can cook, asshole," she replied irritably. "I _choose_ not to cook for you. There's a difference."

Besides, food was the farthest thing from Marlowe's mind when it came to turning down the invitation. _Can't really avoid Jax Teller if I'm sitting at his mother's table having dinner, now can I?_

Three nights ago, Marlowe had finally given in to her craving for the pretty blond outlaw, deciding to hook up for some hot sex only to discover almost immediately that the man had an old lady on retainer. That knowledge—passed on by a totally clueless Kozik—had convinced Marlowe to put her libido back in check. The news had also inexplicably pissed her off royally.

Thinking back on every interaction she had ever had with Jax, Marlowe couldn't recall him ever mentioning an old lady, but it wasn't like he had been required to disclose his status. If she was honest with herself, she had chosen to assume that the man was single. After all, she should have known that a man as charismatic and good looking as Jax Teller couldn't possibly be unattached. Obviously, spending six months in the brig surrounded by other women had put her off her game.

Although events over the past couple of years had all but ended Marlowe's career—and had basically stripped her of her identity and her life—she still held fast to her pride. Being played for a dumb, clueless female by the outlaw biker was not appreciated. In her anger and refusing to look like a fool, Marlowe had no problem in ditching her would-be lover on the spot. Instead, she had made her way to Stockton to sit in a crowded movie theatre to watch _Iron Man 2_ and _Robin Hood_ before finally making her way back to Charming. Once behind the safety of the door to her own private dorm, Marlowe had spent the next two days doing her best to stay out of Jax's way and off his radar.

 _Which had been a totally punk ass move_ , she irritability acknowledged to herself.

Marlowe had to admit that she wasn't just disappointed in Jax; she was disappointed in herself for avoiding him like some angst-filled teenager. _She_ should have confronted him about his bullshit move from the get, instead of hiding out in her dorm room like a little bitch.

After spending some time working out with the former SAMCRO President yesterday morning, Marlowe had beat a hasty retreat and spent the entire day with Amelia, not leaving the wellness center until after eight o' clock that evening. She probably would have stayed longer, but it became clear that she was interfering with Amelia's surprisingly active social life at the center, having become one of the more popular residents. Leaving Amelia behind in a rather heated game of gin rummy, Marlowe ended up parking her ass at the Buffalo Bar in Lodi, drinking club sodas and shooting pool with the locals to kill time before returning to the Clubhouse as late as possible in order to avoid running into Jax.

 _Only to run straight into Happy and his double-dammed dinner invite_ , Marlowe groused to herself.

It wasn't as if she were afraid of Gemma Teller-Morrow, Marlowe reasoned, and that's when she realized just how ludicrous she was acting. Instead of avoiding an opportunity to socialize with the people she was basically living with, Marlowe decided to take the bull by the fuckin' horns and go. It would certainly provide her with an opening to set Jax Teller straight.

 _In front of his old lady?_ Marlowe asked herself, knowing that there was a pretty solid chance that the woman would be there. Realizing that a confrontation during Sunday dinner on old lady territory was the wrong move, Marlowe was still determined to come out from hiding and prove she was unfazed by Jax lying by omission. So she "reluctantly" acquiesced to her brother's prodding.

"All right, already," she groused. "If you're going to make a big fuckin' deal about this shit, I'll go."

"About damn time," Happy muttered. "I know you don't know a lot of shit about the status quo around here—"

"Yeah, and whose fault is that?"

Happy waved off his sister's pointed question. "But one thing you need to know is that you don't diss Gemma Morrow. Family dinner is very important shit to her and it's by invitation only, just patches, their old ladies and kids."

"Then why am _I_ invited?" Marlowe asked incredulously. "I'm not a patch and I sure as shit am not an old lady."

"You're different," he replied reluctantly after a long moment. "You work for the Club, so technically that makes you different."

"Are there going to be a lot of these old ladies there?" she asked casually.

"Yeah, a few," Happy answered. "Definitely at least a couple of top tier ones—Lyla, Opie's old lady and Jax's old lady Tara."

"Have I seen either of them before? I mean, most of the females I've seen around here don't look like Clay's old lady," she said as her brother cocked an eye at her. "You know, all put together and shit."

"Yeah, I get it. I don't really pay much attention to the old ladies, but I don't think I've seen either around the Clubhouse lately. Lyla, maybe, just cause a lot of her ex co-workers hang out with the Club." At his sister's questioning look, he continued. "Lyla used to work for Cara Cara, the porn studio the Club financed before it burned down. Now she works under contract with another studio."

"Opie married a _porn star_?" Marlowe blinked a couple of times. "Not exactly what I was expecting to hear," she said, thinking of the burly, but relatively quiet biker.

"Yeah, well, shit happens."

"What about Jax's old lady?" she eased into the subject. "She a porn star too?"

Happy's laughter started as a deep grumble in his chest, the thought of uptight Tara Knowles being confused as a porn star tickling his ribs. "No, definitely _not_ a porn star. She's a surgeon down at St. Thomas and used to be the Club's doc until Jax offered you the gig."

"Well, shit," Marlowe murmured. "That's a little surprising. I mean, why hire me when you have a real doctor available?"

"That's some shit you don't need to concern yourself with. Just be glad you're getting paid," Happy replied gruffly, before turning to stride out the door, apparently tired of playing twenty questions. "By the way, try to look at least semi-decent tonight, a'ight?"

Marlowe's back immediately went up. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It means that maybe you can try looking like a bitch for once instead of desert-storming G.I. Jane. Maybe slap some shit on your face, I don't know, comb your hair. Just don't look like my rag pickin' cousin, a'ight?" he said testily before walking out and slamming the door behind him, just one second before a highly polished combat boot slammed into it.

"Asshole," Marlowe yelled, before flinging herself back onto her bed. "Rag pickin' cousin, my ass," she muttered. "Hap needs to mind what he wishes for 'cause he just might get it," she vowed as she stood up and headed to her lone chest of drawers.

* * *

Leaning back into the comfortable leather armchair in the middle of the Morrows' living room, Wayne Unser crossed his legs as he nursed the ice cold beer in his hand. The former Chief of the now-defunct Charming Police Department chuckled to himself as he considered the irony, an ex-lawman feeling at home in the midst of a pack of lawless hardcore bikers.

But when it came to his life, learning to expect the unexpected had been par for the course for Unser.

Wayne had graduated from the local high school in 1974, not at all bothering to pick up any viable skills that would translate in the real world while kicking around in the four-year teenage purgatory. The only opportunities open to him after graduation had been either a career in the military or public service. Having dodged the Draft because he had been underage at the time, Wayne wasn't in a hurry to sign up for active duty and with his slight frame and build, he figured that being a hero fireman was out of the question as well. That left him with one other option, so once he had his diploma in hand, Unser applied for and was accepted by the San Joaquin Police Academy. After six months of training, he became the newest rookie deputy of the Charming Police Department.

His career had started out relatively simple and uneventful in spite of the fact that Charming, with barely 14,000 residents, had its fair share of violence and quality of life issues prevalent across the United States in the '70s, early 80s. Unser certainly had plenty to keep him busy and soon settled into a routine at work. Never much of a man about town, Wayne met and married Della, a Native American woman from the Wahewa Tribe, after dating for less than six months and soon thereafter started pumping out kids.

Life for Wayne Unser was turning out pretty much how he had expected until the unexpected happened and his life would never be the same again. It had been over thirty years ago, but Unser still remembered the exact moment it had happened.

His close childhood friend and Charming's prodigal daughter Gemma Maddoc, who had cut ties with her hometown at sixteen, had finally returned. She hadn't come alone, however, as she led a convoy of Harleys straight down Main Street. At the height of her beauty, the free-spirit—now known as Gemma Teller—had returned with a baby on her hip and a motorcycle club looking to set permanent roots.

Wayne Unser had loved Gemma for so long he couldn't remember a time when he didn't, so he wanted to dislike her "old man", John Teller on sight. But there was just something about JT that came across as genuinely likeable and sincere in spite of his outlaw biker lifestyle. The unlikeliest of friends, Deputy Unser and the SAMCRO President worked together to eradicate drugs, prostitution and crime that was forcing life-long Charming residents to abandon their hometown for safer areas in Northern California.

Thanks to Mayor Hale's campaign to rid the town of the Sons, Unser suddenly found himself forced into retirement after many years of straddling a fine line between serving his badge and serving the Club. The problem, however, was that as good a friend as he had been to the Club, he had been just as shitty a husband and father to his own family. Not only was he alienated from his adult children but his wife of almost forty years had decided she'd had enough.

Just as Wayne was finishing his last round of chemo, Della filed for divorce and had relocated to Texas to be closer to her sister, taking half of their assets with her. In order to retain ownership of Unser Trucking, Wayne had been forced sell their home in order to satisfy the divorce settlement. Other than his meager pension from Sanwa County, his modest income from Unser Trucking was all Wayne had left as fighting cancer had exhausted what little money he and Della had managed to save over the years.

Many of the townsfolk were well aware of his association with the Club and likely speculated that Unser had squirreled away a substantial amount of cash as SAMCRO's errand boy. Sadly for his finances, the truth was actually quite the opposite. Although Unser and the Club had worked together and there had been times when he had benefited by that association in the form of protections runs for his trucking business, he had _never_ been on SAMCRO's payroll. His compensation for backing the Sons of Anarchy had always been keeping Charming and its residents safe. The MC not only kept the town virtually crime-free, but also kept it safe from greedy land developers like Jacob Hale Jr., whose dreams for expansion could permanently alter the face of Charming by killing its many mom-and-pop businesses. In return, Unser made it possible for the Club to operate without interference from law enforcement.

His final act for the Club in that regard had been helping them get vengeance on dirty ATF Agent June Stahl. Having already relinquished his badge, Unser had participated in the plot to impose outlaw justice on the woman responsible for not only the death of Donna Winston, but the murder of Kip "Half Sack" Epps, the kidnapping of Abel Teller and near-imprisonment of Gemma Teller-Morrow for murder.

Yet, despite the fact that he was of no more real use to the Club, Unser was still part of the inner circle. A part of the SAMCRO family.

"Wayne!" Gemma called out from the kitchen, sauntering across the hardwood floor to stand at his side. "Are you brooding over here all by yourself again?"

"Nah, sweetheart. I'm just relaxing," he smiled. "You know, I never really had the chance to appreciate your domestic talents, Gem. You sure have the place looking good and feeling homey."

"Well, anything is bound to look good compared to your new rock star digs," Gemma replied, referring to Unser's Air-Stream, as she sat down on the armrest of his chair. "You have no idea how much I hate the idea of you all alone up there on that desolate three acre parcel of land of yours."

"Well, no need to worry about that anymore," Unser advised before taking a sip from his beer. "I sold it."

"What?" Gemma sputtered. "When? And why?"

"A week ago," he shrugged. "I needed the money," he finally admitted looking into her chocolate brown eyes. "My meds are too damn expensive and the insurance I have is shit."

"Why haven't you said anything?" she hissed at him.

"Because it's not your problem, sweetheart. I can handle my shit just fine."

 _Uh, no you can't_ , Gemma thought irritably. _Why didn't I see this shit coming?_

"What about the business?" she asked.

"Things have been quiet. Too quiet," he responded. "I've been trying to get creative in order to generate some new business, but I just don't have the energy. I've been approached by a company in Lodi looking to expand and I'm actually considering selling them part of the business. They're willing to take on all my trucks, employees, everything and we'll split the profits 50/50."

"Sell the business?" a voice echoed and Unser turned his head in time to see Jax Teller ambling towards him. The younger man sat on his mother's coffee table opposite him, waving off Gemma's admonishment that he should use a chair instead. "What's this shit you're talking about, Chief?"

As Unser started to explain his predicament, he watched as the SAMCRO President took it all in, before standing up and motioning for Unser to do the same. Quirking his eyebrow, Unser was unprepared for the young man's next words. "Why don't we take a little walk and talk some business before dinner?"

* * *

Chopping the baby carrots into small identical pieces, Tara was totally engrossed in her task as she sat at the small table in Gemma's kitchen. She was just one of a number of old ladies working together to prepare an abundance of food for Gemma's famous Sunday dinner.

Truth be told, not being on rotation at the hospital this weekend, Tara had hoped to spend a quiet Sunday at home relaxing. More than likely, however, it would have been just her and Abel as Jax lately found every excuse imaginable to stay at the Clubhouse on most nights. And the nights he did bother to come home, he expected her to make dinner even though she worked a _real_ full-time job.

In retrospect, Tara was glad Gemma was reinstating her once-monthly Sunday dinners. It certainly saved her the trouble of having to cook herself. Besides, without Elyda's help, it probably would have been Hamburger Helper night at the Teller-Knowles house and Tara knew just how much Jax hated that. She was an excellent pediatric surgeon. Of that she had no doubt, but cooking was not her strong suit and even though she had an excellent teacher in Abel's nanny, Tara had little interest in honing any domestic skills. After all, that was what Elyda was getting paid for.

Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, Tara took a moment to consider her reflection in the small mirror sitting on top of the counter dividing the kitchen and dining areas. The new hairstyle of long bangs and a light dusting of blond highlights suited her, she thought as she lightly shook her head and her waves bounced into place. Tara had never been overly concerned about how she looked, but with Gemma presenting herself as the perfect old lady role model, Tara had taken to paying more attention to her appearance, including investing some of her paycheck on a new wardrobe.

Casting an eye over to the right, Tara was able to spot her old man from her position at the kitchen table. The Morrow living room was set up like a Great Hall. The large open space was filled with oversized leather furniture and art décor and was directly across from the open formal dining area and kitchen. With a number of smaller tables set against the wall for the children of the charter, the dining room table was in the process of being set to accommodate all the adults for the huge meal.

Her old man was currently in a deep conversation with Piney and Juice as they relaxed with beers and tequila in hand. Tara was pretty sure that the discussion was not Club-related as Club business was never discussed during family events.

Tara had to admit that, on some level, she _did_ enjoy these get-togethers. Sitting among other members of SAMCRO and their families, it was easy to distance herself from the reality of what the Club was really about. For a couple of hours, Tara could just pretend that her old man was a simple garage mechanic and that his brothers were merely Harley enthusiasts, and that any power tools they wielded didn't require bullets.

With the Morrows' loudly chiming doorbell intruding on her thoughts, Tara Knowles looked up to see two more guests walk in.

* * *

"What the fuck are you staring at, Hap?" Marlowe muttered as ran her fingers through her hair, trying to restore it to something resembling a reasonable hairstyle after being trapped under Happy's helmet. They stood on the doorstep of the Morrow house waiting for someone to finally answer the door, which Happy had laid down on hard.

"I ain't too sure," the biker snarked. "I know I said for you to fix shit up, but _damn_!"

"Shut up," she snarled back at him just as the door opened, and tilting her head up slightly took in the raised eyebrows of SAMCRO's gentle giant.

"Damn," Opie seemed to agree with Happy as he leaned against the doorframe, a slow smile spreading over his face. "Who the fuck are you and what have you done with Doc?"

"Ass," Marlowe said and quickly winced as her mouth got away from her again. She rolled her eyes in exasperation as Happy grabbed her by her well-defined upper arm and shoved her inside.

"Stop mouthing off," Happy ordered before reaching out to bro-hug Opie. "You can't really blame my brother. You always look like you do your shopping at the bargain bin of the Army/Navy surplus store. Showing up looking like an actual bitch with bitch parts is gonna shock any man."

 _Yeah,_ Opie thought with some amusement. _And I know one man in particular who's gonna be picking his jaw up off the floor real soon too._

"Well, now that you two are here, the party can officially get started," Opie said with a grin.

Ushering the two newest arrivals in front of him, Opie spoke loud enough to be heard. "Look who's here, everybody." Amidst cheerily given greetings—and a fair share of wolf whistles and cat calls—Marlowe tried taking a detour to a lone chair in a corner of the room. However, the SAMCRO VP caught her by the arm and coaxed her over to the sofa where Tig and Kozik were stretched out and gently shoved her in between the two bugged-eyed men.

"C'mon, bro, let's go grab a beer," Opie suggested as he angled his head towards Happy.

"Shit, yeah," the SAA replied. Turning to his sister, he gave her the fish eye. "Don't start any shit," he warned before following Opie.

Happy had barely gotten two steps away before the former-SAA started up. "Well, shit, doll. What did you do to yourself?" Tig leered as he stretched an arm across the back of the sofa to finally rest it on her shoulders.

Quickly using her elbow as a battering ram, Marlowe gave Tig a quick shot to the ribs, causing him to yelp in surprise. "I didn't do a damn thing. And didn't your momma ever teach you to look with your eyes and not with your hands?" she said calmly.

"Uh, didn't you know? Tigger was raised by wolves," Kozik joked as he eyed her lazily, "but, shit, Doc. I have to agree with him. You look smoking hot. You clean up pretty good."

"Yes, she does," Jax said quietly.

The SAMCRO President had been shooting the shit with Piney and Juice on some modifications he was thinking about making to his ride in the far corner of the living room when the doorbell rang. His eyes had widened almost imperceptibly as he watched SAMCRO's SAA and his sister walk in, followed by Jax's best friend.

 _I can't believe she actually showed up_ , he thought as he quickly swallowed his beer and excused himself to walk over and greet the newcomers.

To say that Jax Teller had been pissed at the Club's new medic was a serious understatement. If anyone had tried to warn him that the woman who had initiated a rendezvous for what should have been a mind-blowing booty call would deliberately stand his ass up, he would have thought that they had completely lost their shit. So it came as a complete surprise to Jax when Marlowe had failed to show up at The Hairy Dog as promised.

Unwilling to acknowledge that he had been stood up, however, it had taken Jax nearly an hour of sitting at the bar by himself to realize that she wasn't going to show up and, for the life of him, he couldn't figure out why.

Jax wasn't a man who misread signals. He knew when a woman was into him, and it had been obvious from the moment they first met that there had been a vibe between them, which they both felt. Thinking that something may have happened to her, Jax had tried reaching Marlowe on her prepay only to have his call go straight to voice-mail.

After returning to the Clubhouse and discovering that Marlowe had ditched him to go to the movies, Jax had grabbed a bottle of Jack to keep him company in his dorm. He spent the rest of the night getting drunk instead of getting awesomely laid by the long-legged beauty with the haunting gray eyes. Jax had also done a lot of thinking and had come to the conclusion that something or someone had probably spooked Marlowe, giving her cold feet. With Happy set to spend most of the weekend in Rogue River, he had narrowed the short list of culprits down to two and had confronted them the following afternoon after his temper had abated.

It was Kozik who finally copped to the fact that he had mentioned to Marlowe in passing that Jax had an old lady. Although he had been seriously pissed by his brother's unintentional cock-blocking, Jax knew that on some level, by preventing him from doing some shit that he had really, _really_ wanted to do with and to Marlowe, Kozik had probably ended up saving him a lot of grief. Now, all Jax needed to do was to work shit out with Marlowe herself, something he had been unable to do as she had been avoiding him ever since things had gone south between them.

Once the ache in his balls had subsided, it had become clear to Jax that messing around with Marlowe probably wasn't a good idea. The fact was shit like what he had planned for him and Marlowe that night should only happen a run. But even then, Marlowe wasn't a sweetbutt. She now worked for the Club, putting her in a very different category altogether. She wasn't an old lady, but she wasn't Club pussy either. And of course, there was her brother to take into consideration as well.

Jax had been really pleased when Happy had put in his request to patch in with SAMCRO again. The fact was that, from the time he had been a teenager, both he and Opie had often admired the patch and wanted to emulate him. It was obvious just how much Happy loved and respected the Club and his brothers. Having been JT's prospect had also given Jax a special connection to Happy, with Hap expressing his loyalty to Jax even before he had been patched as Vice President. That's why it had made perfect sense to ask the older man to become his SAA and watch his back once Jax had taken over the gavel.

That being the case, Jax had to figure that messing around with Hap's little sister wouldn't win him any fuckin' brownie points. As an outlaw biker, Happy understood what it was like in the Clubhouse and understood the role women generally played in an MC. Nonetheless, there was a big difference between Jax hitting it with a croweater and hitting it with Marlowe.

So Jax fully intended to do the right thing by first clearing the air with Marlowe before drawing the line in the fuckin' sand. But taking in the long-limbed beauty, he was starting to wonder if maybe he was only fooling himself.

"Hey," Marlowe said quietly as she eyed Jax. Seeing the admiration reflected in his dark gaze, she figured she had done a fairly decent job with her appearance.

In the ten years of her life as a Navy Corpsman, Marlowe had acquired little in the way of material possessions. Between serving three tours of duty, Marlowe had spent a considerable amount of time stateside living on naval bases and training facilities as she continued to hone her skills as a medic. Not having a permanent residence, Marlowe had learned to travel light, never allowing herself to get too attached to material things.

Marlowe's social life almost always consisted of hanging out with fellow sailors and Marines at bars and pool halls. The dress code was always simple, but on occasion, some function like a wedding or other formal gathering that didn't call for her Navy dress whites would crop up, requiring her to look like a woman.

For those times, she had _the dress_.

Like the rest of her wardrobe, the coral dress with large black butterflies was simple. Edged with black lace around the bodice with a sexy black zipper that stopped just below her breasts, the form-fitting dress with narrow black spaghetti straps showcased her well-defined upper body and stopped at mid-thigh, accentuating her long, tanned limbs. Unwilling to splurge on heels she'd probably never wear again anyway, the dress paired surprisingly well with her combat boots, which she had taken the time to polish to a mirror shine. With several black bangle bracelets and a pair of black hoops, Marlowe's jewelry was understated and flattering against her lightly tanned skin.

Giving in to her brother's demands to "slap some shit" on her face, Marlowe had used the one black eye pencil she had to outline her lashes and lids and nude lip gloss that barely qualified as make up. Taking almost an hour to get ready for any kind of an event was simply unheard of for Marlowe, but figuring that if she was being forced to face the Pres, the least she could do was look good while doing it.

 _That way, he'll get to see just what he missed out on_ , she thought as she took a look at the end result as she turned and twisted in her dorm's small bathroom, peering into the mirror at the finished result.

Now as Jax looked her up one way and down the other, she had to admit, it had been well worth the effort.

"I see you made it."

"That I did," she acknowledged, her gaze direct and candid.

"You got a minute?" Jax asked evenly.

"I've got two," she quipped and at his motioning hand, got up. Leaving Kozik and Tig behind, she followed the SAMCRO President as he walked towards the kitchen and out the back door.

 _And_ past his old lady.

* * *

Tara's lips tightened into a thin line as she watched her old man walk past her without saying a word, heading to the backyard with what had to be a damn croweater in tow.

Up until that moment, the kitchen had been filled with the inane conversation of several old ladies, but as the couple passed by, all voices lowered to a dull murmur. Tara, sure that the topics of prior conversations had been abruptly dropped, knew the women were now focused on Jax Teller and the woman who had obediently followed him outside.

Carefully standing up, Tara kept her face impassive as she casually made her way over to the refrigerator. There, Gemma was removing a large pan of cold pasta salad and handing it over to Lyla.

"Gem, can I talk to you for a sec?" Tara asked through what could only be categorized as a grimace drawn tight across her face.

"Sure, baby," Gemma replied as she slammed the refrigerator shut. Turning, she watched as Tara detoured around Lyla and headed directly towards the small alcove off the dining room that served as Clay's private office. Following behind her, the SAMCRO matriarch had a pretty good idea why she was being dragged off for a private discussion. After all, she didn't have eyes in the back of her head for nothing.

_Maybe inviting Marlowe hadn't been such a good idea after all. The woman definitely cleans up well. Too well, in fact._

Gemma had one foot off the lot after spending a full Saturday in the T-M office when she ran into Happy as he was parking his ride. With Happy just having returned from a couple of days at the Rogue River charter, Gemma had made the snap decision to tell Happy to bring his sister along for dinner at her house on Sunday.

Once home, Gemma dove head first into food prep for the following day when her old man wandered into the kitchen looking for a beer. Casually mentioning the fact that Marlowe would be joining them for dinner on Sunday, she had been surprised that Clay thought it was a pretty good idea. Generally speaking, when it came to family functions, the SAMCRO Queen never saw the need to run shit by Clay. After all, family was her niche and he never bothered to offer an opinion or suggestion unless she requested one. Even then, there were never any guarantees that Gemma would actually listen. This time around, however, Clay suddenly morphed into a fuckin' Chatty Cathy, filling her in on the fact that Jax had hired Marlowe to help out with the Club's health needs until she and Hap's mom returned to Bakersfield. In the process, he had given up quite a bit of Intel on Marlowe Guthrie's past.

It had certainly gone a long way in explaining the big ass chip the young woman was sporting on her shoulder. All things considered, however, knowing that the ex-Navy medic probably took her duty to the Club with extreme seriousness somewhat explained why Marlowe would cut Jax off at the knees. Apparently, not shitting where you eat was a concept that was lost on her penis-centric son. In any case, Gemma had deemed it safe enough to include Marlowe in the get-together. It would most definitely give her the opportunity to observe how she acted around the Club in a casual environment.

But as she followed behind Tara, Gemma was getting the vibe that her son's old lady didn't know dick about the new woman or her role in the Clubhouse. How could she possibly downplay Marlowe's involvement with the Club, especially when she knew her son had already made a play for the sexy newcomer? Any way she looked at it, it was a losing situation for her because Gemma knew that making an attempt at easing Tara's mind about Jax possibly straying would eventually bleed all over her.

_Damn you, Jax!_

* * *

Of all the places in the world, a greenhouse was the last one Marlowe Guthrie had expected to find herself in on a Sunday afternoon.

Following the SAMCRO Pres through the kitchen and outside, she had been prepared for a rather subdued confrontation right there on the back porch. Instead, Jax had detoured to the left, around the back of the house and to the side to what was an undeniably beautiful and well-maintained greenhouse. Now, as she pressed her memory, Marlowe vaguely remembered Tía telling her that she shared a common interest in gardening with the biker old lady that had visited her in St. Thomas. Walking inside, Marlowe saw the neatly-stacked gardening supplies as well as pots filled with spring flowers, small trees, tomato vines and—she smirked to herself—several about-to-bud marijuana plants which were obviously for personal use. Apparently, Gemma's thumb was slightly greener than Amelia's.

"Surprised, huh?"

Marlowe turned around to face Jax. He was leaning against a large wooden table that was probably where Gemma did most of her work. With his hands shoved casually into the pockets of baggy jeans, his eyes appeared a deeper blue than ever against the dark checked flannel he wore underneath his kutte.

"Yeah, it is. I don't think I would have ever pegged your Mom as the kind of woman who likes puttering around in the dirt," she replied easily. "From what I've gathered so far, she's seems to be pretty fashion conscious."

"Oh, there's no doubt about that shit," Jax replied laconically. "I guess you could say that, like most people, my Mom's got layers. A lot of people don't never take the time to peel away those layers to see what's underneath. Always so quick to judge what's on the surface, labeling shit one thing when it's actually something else entirely."

Reading between the lines, Marlowe arched an eyebrow, figuring it was time to stop beating around the bush and cut to the chase. "I'm going to assume that was a passive-aggressive dig at me, right?"

"Nothing passive about me, darlin'," Jax shook his head. "I'm all aggressive, all the time."

Marlowe nodded in agreement, fighting to keep a smile from curling her full lips. "Yeah. I got that."

"But you're right," he continued. "I didn't drag you out here to talk about gardening."

"You didn't drag me anywhere, Pres. Like on another recent occasion, I just followed your lead."

"Yeah, you did," Jax conceded with a slight smile. "Just not all the way."

"And judging by the speed gossip travels among you burly bikers, I think we both know the reason why," Marlowe retorted.

"Yeah, we do."

Marlowe let out a frustrated breath of air that blew wayward strands of wavy hair away from her face. Turning around, she sat down on a cushioned wicker sofa and crossed her long lean legs before looking at Jax again. "You could have told me yourself, you know?"

Jax nodded in agreement. "Would it have made a difference if I had?" he asked and Marlowe chuckled at the sound of hopeful expectation in his voice.

Marlowe ran an exasperated hand through her hair. "I think you know I wish I could say different, but no, it wouldn't have made a difference."

Jax ran a hand over the hair on his chin. Pushing himself away from the work table, he sauntered over to Marlowe and sat down next to her. Pulling his pack of cigarettes from his kutte, he lit one and blew a stream of blue smoke over their heads.

"I get it," he finally said, turning his head to look at her directly. "I sure as shit don't appreciate getting stood up, but I get it." Jax paused and then continued, "Look, Marlowe, I'm not even gonna try to feed you some fairy tale bullshit about me pushing up on you."

"You're not?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "Why bother? You're a beautiful woman and I think you already know that I'm incredibly fuckin' attracted to you."

Marlowe allowed herself a smile. "I also think you know it works the other way around too, right?"

"I do," he replied softly. "And because of that I decided to forget that I had an old lady for a while."

"I gotta figure it's not an easy thing to do, forgetting a woman, generally speaking," Marlowe clarified.

"No, it's not. Not unless you have your reasons for wanting to forget." Jax took another drag of his cigarette. He wasn't ready to admit to anyone, much less the woman he wanted to fuck more than he wanted air to breathe, that his sex life with his old lady had hit the skids. Not only would that open a whole new can of worms, but he didn't want Marlowe to think that all he had wanted from her was to hit it and quit it, especially when he wasn't really sure that's all he wanted himself.

"You know, Jax, I'm starting to get a little bit of a handle on how this MC life shit works and I'm not some naïve virgin sitting in judgment of what goes on inside the Clubhouse," she stated soberly. "I personally just have certain lines that I can't let myself cross, especially when I don't have all the facts and that's why I bailed on you. And, I'm not gonna lie, I was also a little pissed that I was hearing this from a third-party and not you. Who's to say what would have happened between us had you been upfront with me from the beginning," Marlowe stopped and smiled mischievously. "But I do know that had your ass been single, shit, I probably would have broken your dick off that night and put it in my purse."

"Shit, darlin', don't tease me now," Jax groaned dramatically. Eyeing each other, they burst out laughing. Suddenly, Jax sobered up, taking his time to put his cigarette out in the ashtray on the glass table next to them before looking into Marlowe's eyes again. "You know, I was single five years ago. Had we met then, maybe things would be different between us today."

Marlowe felt a slight tightening in her chest at the sound of sincerity in his voice. "Maybe," she heard herself whisper in agreement, "but we didn't, Jax, and going forward I think its probably best if we just keep things between us professional, don't you?"

Jax nodded. "Yeah, I came to the same conclusion after both my temper and libido had time cool off," he teased, making Marlowe laugh easily. "But," he quickly followed up with a fierce glare. "You could've at least called me, instead of leaving my ass hanging."

Marlowe peeped at him through her thick lashes. "How long did you wait?"

"Not long," he lied, shrugging his shoulders. "Ten, fifteen minutes tops."

"Liar," she shot back, a huge grin on her face.

Jax shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. "Okay, maybe it was more like thirty, forty-five minutes." Standing up, he offered her a hand and, after a moment's hesitation, Marlowe took it, allowing him to pull her to her feet. The move brought her directly into his personal space. Standing chest-to-chest, Marlowe could feel his warm breath on her cheek. "So we're good?" he murmured.

"Um, yeah," she finally managed to say calmly. "We're good."

"Then we better get back inside before I get into trouble for something I _didn't_ do this time," Jax replied with a sexy smirk.

* * *

Standing by the kitchen sink, Tara continued to simmer with barely suppressed rage as she heard the bursts of rambunctious laughter emanating from the living room. To say that her enjoyment of the family dinner had gone straight down the drain the moment the Club's new whore had made her entrance would have been a monumental understatement. Angrily scraping the food remnants from the dirty dinner dishes into a large pail Gemma would later use for composting, Tara continued to hand off plates to Lyla for stacking in the dishwasher.

 _I've been replaced by a fuckin' croweater_ , had been the thought reverberating through Tara's mind as Gemma had hopelessly tried to cover for her precious son.

Standing in the alcove while Gemma attempted to explain to her in hurried and hushed whispers who the slut was, Tara had felt the anger building up in her, barely hearing one word out of ten the SAMCRO matriarch was spewing forth.

 _All lies, I bet. Happy's sister my ass_ , Tara thought bitterly.

Most of what Gemma had to say had pretty much rolled in one ear and out the other as Tara herself tried to come up with a reasonable explanation as to why Jax had gone outside with the new bitch. Returning to the kitchen after her talk with Gemma, Tara had kept a close eye on her watch. Timing their departure, the pair had been gone for almost fifteen minutes before they made their way back inside.

 _Certainly long enough for them to fuck_ , Tara fumed. _Or at least for the slut to give him some head since he must be getting it from somewhere._

Making a trip upstairs to check on Abel who was in the middle of one of his long naps, Tara had returned downstairs to find that everyone was being called to dinner. It quickly became apparent that several of the old ladies had been introduced to the newcomer as a small group, including Lyla, made small talk with her, but with everyone wanting to dig into the food spread out on the dining room table, Tara never got a formal introduction. Instead, she spent the rest of the evening picking at her food as she tried to pay close attention to the woman without making it obvious.

What was really burning the good doctor's ass—and what ultimately confused her the most—was how this Marlowe Bitch was being treated by all the patches in the house. It was almost as if she were one of the boys. Sandwiched between Kozik and Tig, Marlowe wasn't treated like an old lady, but she wasn't treated like a pass-around either as Tara had yet to see the woman fetch any of the men a beer. As a matter of fact, Juice had been the one to offer to bring _her_ one on his way back from the bathroom.

With an offhanded remark made by Bobby Elvis about how Wade was doing, Tara was stunned to discover that it had been _this_ woman who had been responsible for treating the injured mechanic on the lot, not Chibs as Gemma had led her to believe. _She_ was the reason Jax hadn't bothered to call her in for assistance, and with what Gemma had shared with her finally filtering through the murky soup of her brain, Tara came to understand that she was being replaced.

 _She isn't even a fuckin' doctor, for God's sake_.

Now, instead of bringing her ass into the kitchen to help the old ladies on clean up duty, _Marley_ was far too busy socializing with the Club, most likely interfering in shit that didn't concern her, the primary one being the SAMCRO President. Fit to be tied, Tara was so angry that for several moments it didn't even occur to her that her old man was calling her name until Gemma nudged her shoulder.

"Baby, wake the fuck up. Jax is calling you," she directed the young woman. "Go see what he wants."

Stomping off through the kitchen, Tara finally made it to her old man's side. The living room was filled to capacity with patches scattered around sitting on folding chairs and couches. Her old man was comfortably reclining on a love seat next to Happy, across from Kozik, Tig and the slut.

Looking up at Tara, Jax flashed her grin. "Hey babe, can you bring me another beer, please?"

Tara's eyes suddenly darkened, immediately offended. _Are you kidding me?! Is he really asking me to fetch him a beer when this bitch is sitting right here?_

"I thought that's what croweaters are for, fetching beer and sucking cock. Send her," Tara pointed at Marlowe and it was like the air had been sucked out of the room.

"Oh shit," Kozik muttered under his breath at the look in Tara's stormy green eyes. _Fuck, this ain't gonna end well_ , he figured as Marlowe's brother stood up.

Happy had been ragging on Tig about going a round or two in the ring at the next after-Church party when Tara's rude comment aimed at Marlowe intruded on the conversation. "Whoa!" he exclaimed.

Sensing shit was about to get out of control, Clay who had walked into the living room with a box cigars just in time to hear the croweater remark, moved quickly to intercede. "Uh, Tara, maybe you should go see if Gemma needs some help in the kitchen."

"No, hold on," Marlowe spoke up after some of her shock dissipated. "I think there's been a misunderstanding." Looking at the woman that was practically trembling with suppressed rage, she pretty much had all the confirmation she needed that she was looking at Jax Teller's old lady.

Marlowe had felt a pair of bitter eyes on her all evening long and, with no formal introduction made, Marlowe figured that maybe it had been better that way. After all, she remembered walking past the woman in the kitchen on her way out to talk with Jax. After their return, Jax's old lady had made a point of sticking to him like glue. Seeing no sense in rocking the boat, Marlowe had patently ignored Jax during the evening, spending most of her time with Tig, Kozik and Happy.

But after the woman's unprovoked attack, it was no holds-barred. Although she had come close to stepping all over the old lady's territory, Marlowe had pulled herself back even though she had been under no obligation to. After all, she wasn't the one in a committed relationship. However, even though she and Jax had squared that shit away and had come to an understanding, Marlowe wasn't about to let anyone treat her like some MC groupie whore.

"Excuse me, but I don't think we've been properly introduced. My name's Marlowe Guthrie," she said easily focusing her eyes on a pair of dark green ones. Ignoring a suddenly sputtering Kozik at her side, Marlowe continued, "If you have something you need to get off your chest, then by all means go ahead because I'm just dying to hear what you have to say."

"Marlowe," Happy growled, his eyes never leaving Tara. "Chill."

"I couldn't possibly get any cooler, Hap," Marlowe replied evenly and Jax noticed that, unlike Tara who was a seething ball of rage, Marlowe was indeed calm.

"As a matter of fact, I do have something to say. Gemma does need help in the kitchen so I think you should go join her instead of keeping the boys from talking shop," Tara replied, her green eyes flashing, just daring Marlowe to step out of line.

"Brother," Happy directed at Jax. "She's your old lady and it's not my place, but that's my little sis she's talking to."

Having put down the beer he had nearly choked on, Kozik looked at Jax's old lady. Fuck it! If no one would say it, he would. "Marlowe's NOT a fuckin' croweater."

"Yeah, and if anyone's keeping us from talking shop, it's mouthy old ladies," Tig interjected. Catching Jax's pointed glare, he added as an afterthought with a shrug of his shoulders, "Just saying."

Still stunned by Tara's outburst and realizing that they were attracting a crowd of old ladies, including his mother, Jax decided to turn shit around before it got out of hand. Standing up, he grabbed Tara by the arm. "I think Tara's just a little tired. She was just leaving," he announced and swiftly pulled Tara into the foyer, to the great relief of his stepfather.

Being too shocked to resist at first, Tara finally yanked her arm free to whirl around on her old man. "You're defending _her_ by making me leave?!" She was incredulous and her voice was loud and carried quite easily to the living room and its occupants.

"I'm making you leave before you embarrass yourself some more and then shit gets really out of control," Jax replied angrily. "Marlowe _works_ for the Club and she Hap's family. I can't have my old lady disrespecting her and my SAA like that."

"Are you fucking kidding me?! Now even a goddamned dirty club whore is entitled to more respect than I am?!"

Eyeing his old lady, Jax was feeling all sorts of emotions—anger at Tara for creating such a fuckin' scene, disappointment in himself for letting it get so far, and empathy for Marlowe, who was innocent of all the bad shit between him and his old lady recently. Eager to make the situation between him and Marlowe okay again, Jax had made a serious error in judgment. Pulling Marlowe aside to speak to her in front of Tara had definitely been the wrong play and had only served to get his old lady's back up.

_For the first time, I do something right and keep my dick in my pants, and Tara jumps on my ass for it._

Knowing that now was not the time to deal with Tara, Jax said evenly, trying to keep a rein on his growing temper, "You need to go, Tara."

"Fine!" Tara raged. "Let me get Abel and I'm out of here."

"No," Jax retorted calmly. "Abel stays here tonight with my mom. You go and calm the fuck down. We'll talk later when I get home." Turning his head, Jax shouted loudly. "Ratboy! Get your ass out here." As the Prospect hurriedly made his way into the foyer, Jax shoved him towards Tara. "See that my old lady gets home safe," he said before turning away and heading back to the living room. Jax winced as over his shoulder he heard the front door slam shut.

Sauntering into the living room, Jax shook his head wryly as the room suddenly erupted into what could only be fake conversation with no one willing to make eye contact with him.

No one, that is, except for Happy.

Watching as his SAA walked over to him, Jax smiled ruefully as Happy handed him one of the two glasses of Jack Daniels he held.

"Old ladies," Happy said in a gravelly voice. "Can't live with 'em. Can't kill 'em either."

Jax tossed back his drink in one gulp. "Amen, brother!"


	22. Chapter 22

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sons of Anarchy. I do, however, own Marlowe and any other OCs that appear in the 2 Sons Universe.**

* * *

**_Just before midnight on Sunday, May 23, 2010_ **

"Never let it be said that Gemma doesn't know how to entertain," Lyla commented wryly. "We got dinner _and_ a show tonight."

Having tucked their children into their respective beds, the Winston newlyweds had returned to the kitchen to unpack the large canvas shopping bag sitting on the table. Opening it, Lyla started pulling its contents—several aluminum foil pans of varying sizes filled with leftovers—grateful that the SAMCRO matriarch had a knack for overdoing it when it came to the amount of food prepared for these Sunday get-togethers.

 _I probably won't have to worry about cooking for the next few days at least_ , Lyla thought as she placed several heavy containers of food on the counter by the fridge.

"That _was_ something," Opie said with a sardonic grin as he leaned against the kitchen counter, his powerful arms folded over his chest. "I'm just glad my brother held onto his shit the way he did." He watched as his old lady turned to cock her head at him.

"Really, Ope? Jax nearly pulled Tara's arm out of its socket he dragged her ass so hard and fast out of the living room," Lyla said disbelievingly. "I wouldn't call that 'holding onto his shit'."

 _Not that she didn't deserve it_ , she wanted to add but didn't.

"Actually, babe, I was talking about Happy."

Lyla considered the situation for a moment and then shrugged her shoulders. "If you say so, but I think I'd much rather see Happy lose his shit. He was downright scary tonight, looking so calm and all. With those dark eyes focused like a laser beam on Tara, I could tell he barely had his rage contained below surface level. I hate to think what he might have done had Tara not been Jax's old lady."

About to open his mouth in defense of his brother, Opie snapped it shut. He knew Happy too well to know that, had Tara not been an old lady, Lyla may not have been off the mark in expressing concern for her safety. After all, Happy's dedication and loyalty to his family, blood or no blood, wasn't just him paying lip service. It was the code Happy Lowman lived by and what he was known for. Opie knew that the only reason Tara had been spared his wrath was because, like the rest of the Club, _Jax_ was his family.

"I don't know what Tara was thinking when she called Hap's sister a croweater," Lyla said, watching as her old man opened the refrigerator to make room for the incoming food. "I mean, most of us were meeting Marlowe for the first time and she seemed nice enough. Shit, and with those biceps she's rocking, I gotta figure she can handle her own shit. It was prolly a good thing that Jax stepped in when he did," she concluded.

"That definitely was a first," Opie agreed. "I don't think I've ever seen Jax lose his shit with Tara in public before."

"Can't really say I blame him," Lyla shook her head soberly as she handed Opie another pan. "Tara may be an important doctor and all, but she's too damn quick to judge people. She can be a real piece of work sometimes."

Opie lifted his large head to eye his woman thoughtfully. "I thought you two were good now, friends even," he queried, closing the refrigerator door as he eyed her slightly disgruntled expression. "She was your maid of honor."

"Yeah, that she was," Lyla said with a heavy sigh as she folded the now-empty canvas bag. "But I kinda got the vibe that she was forced into doing that for me by Gemma."

Lyla had no delusions about how some of the old ladies viewed her. While a few, like Gemma, embraced her into the fold because Opie was like a son to her, others couldn't get past the "Porn Star" label. But Lyla knew exactly who she was. She was a young woman who, at an even younger age, got dealt a bad hand when her loser boyfriend knocked her up at sixteen. After getting dumped while still pregnant, Lyla had to drop out of high school, which left her with very little in the way of options. Making adult films hadn't been the career path Lyla had envisioned for herself, but as a young single mother she would have done whatever necessary to provide for her son. It was no one's business that her job description included sucking cock and eating pussy. As long as the money was green and paid the bills, she was proud to have found a way to make it on her own. There were times, however, when Lyla met people outside the industry who thought they were better than her and went out of their way to make her feel like shit.

Dr. Tara Knowles had been one such person, the two women not exactly hitting it off the first time they'd met. Condescending and rude, Tara had looked down her nose at Lyla the moment she heard she was one of Luann Delaney's girls. With the old ladies having to pull together during the fourteen months most of SAMCRO had been in lock up, Tara had eventually reached out to her and apologized. But their initial introduction had left a sour taste in Lyla's mouth. She couldn't help but wonder if Tara had only made nice so Lyla would pick up her slack on the T-M lot, which Tara had consistently avoided while Jax had been away.

Shrugging her slight shoulders, Lyla continued, "Tara knows how to make nice when she has to, but we're nowhere near close. We're just two old ladies, not really friends," she said matter-of-factly, and Lyla was okay with that. She was really starting to feel more at home with the other old ladies anyway. They may have just been following Gemma's lead, but it still made Lyla feel like she was a part of the SAMCRO family, which she really needed as she made the transition into Opie's official old lady.

Picking up the canvas shopping bag, Lyla was about to put it in the cabinet under the sink when her old man stopped her. "Babe, no. That's not the place for that. Donna puts shit like that on the bottom shelf in the pantry."

Lyla froze, her heart painfully clenching in her chest. _Donna puts_. The words vibrated painfully against her skull. Straightening up slowly, Lyla turned and focused hurt, yet blazingly angry blue eyes on her old man. "Donna," she started, her voice catching in her throat, "can't put shit anywhere, Ope. Donna's dead. _I'm_ your wife now!"

Throwing the bag under the sink and slamming the door, Lyla stomped out of the kitchen leaving her momentarily shocked old man behind. Forgetting herself and the late hour, she slammed the bedroom door shut behind her and stripped her clothes off, dumping them into a heap on the floor before making her way to the shower. Turning on the water full blast, Lyla stepped inside and allowed the hot water to pour over her as the steam quickly rose up around her before she sank down to the floor and hugged her knees.

Swiping at the water mixed with tears running down her face, Lyla was glad she had made the decision to stay on birth control for now. As much as she loved the idea of having Opie's baby, it was obvious that they had serious issues that needed to be dealt with before they started adding to their family. She had known this before the guys had gone inside. Thinking she had been pregnant, Lyla had approached Tara for a referral to an abortion clinic. The pregnancy had been a false alarm, but now, as she muffled her sobs between her hands, Lyla wondered if that had been a sign for her to leave the relationship.

 _Because I don't have the strength to fight the ghost of a dead wife any more_.

* * *

**_Monday, May 24, 2010_ **

Hanging up the telephone with a sigh, Gemma grabbed the pack of smokes lying on her desk and lit a cigarette.

 _At least my grandson is back where he belongs_ , Gemma thought as she considered the phone call she had just finished. Having left Abel with his doting grandfather in order to get to the lot early, Clay had called to advise that—as Jax had arranged—Elyda had stopped by to pick Abel up and take him home.

Gemma blinked her deep brown eyes wearily as she switched her cigarette to her other hand so she could take a deep sip of coffee from her oversized mug. It was now mid-morning, but after the night she'd had, the SAMCRO matriarch found herself tired, grumpy and strangely depressed as she thought about the family shit fest the night before.

"I am too old for this bullshit," she muttered to herself, considering her streak of bad luck when it came to family dinners. The last one had been well over a year ago and had ended before even getting started with Deputy Chief David Hale's announcement of Luann Delaney's death. Although it seemed too close to call at the time, at least last night's dinner had not ended with someone dead.

Watching the shit hit the fan in her living room last night, Gemma felt as if she had been watching a sporting event gone suddenly and horribly wrong. Apparently, making the impulsive decision to invite the Club's new medic to a family function had been the wrong call to make after all, especially since Jax had yet to master the art of good timing when it came to his personal life.

 _Why the hell did he choose to pull Happy's sister aside for a talk during a family function and right under his old lady's nose too?_ Gemma lamented uselessly because she knew her son all too well.

But having a vague suspicion that something _might_ be going on between Jax and Marlowe and _knowing_ it for certain were two entirely different things. As much as Gemma had involved herself in her son's life in the past, this was one road that could be fraught with land mines ready to blow up in her face if she decided to interfere.

Although Gemma was most definitely a proud old lady and mother, she was a woman first. She knew how devastating it was to be caught unawares by one of her old man's indiscretions. Gemma had long ago resigned herself to turning a blind eye to her second husband's sporadic infidelity, much in the way she had done with JT. It was a part of living the Life and as an old lady, it wasn't within her power to change the status quo. She could live with "what happens on the road, stays on the road" as long as she wasn't slapped in the face with that shit at home.

However, in spite of overhearing Tig and Kozik discussing her son's recent botched attempt at infidelity, Gemma knew she would never be able to take Tara's side on this. No matter what the little shithead ended up doing, Gemma knew she would always support her son. So, for probably the first time in her life, she really didn't want to know if Jax was up to something unforgiveable like stepping out on Tara again and _in Charming_ to boot. All may have been forgiven after Tara's kidnapping and subsequent miscarriage, but a woman never forgets being betrayed by her man, especially with the likes of Ima Tite.

Seeing her old man pull Marlowe aside for a personal chat must have chafed Tara more than Gemma had initially thought. Judging by the confrontation she had initiated with Hap's sister, Tara must have been feeling residual anger concerning Ima, especially since she had failed to beat the living shit out of the porn slut after catching her red-handed in Jax's dorm over a year ago.

That situation only served as a breeding ground for even more bad feelings when the same week the boys had been released from Stockton, Gemma and Tara had walked into the Clubhouse to find Ima making herself at home. Apparently, she had been invited to spend the night with a visiting patch from the Fresno charter, but Tara didn't care. Suddenly morphing into Super Bitch, Tara was about to pound the porn star into dust when Ima pulled a .38 Special on her. Adding to the already-chaotic and dangerous situation, Ima proceeded to further cross the line when she aimed the gun at Gemma who had been holding Abel in her arms.

When Jax returned to the lot after learning about the incident with Ima, Tara had proceeded to tear a strip off of him. She had blamed him for allowing women like Ima to disrespect her by allowing them to hang around the Clubhouse. After Tara had stormed off angrily, Gemma had pulled her son to the side, advising him that he needed to get a handle on that shit for the sake of his family.

Although Jax had never discussed the situation with her again, Gemma later learned from Bobby that several days after pulling the gun on two SAMCRO old ladies with connections to Jax and his son, he had seen the porn star sporting a serious black eye. Never knowing the new SAMCRO Pres to be violent with any woman, Bobby had expressed his concern for Jax. Nevertheless, Gemma believed it had been a step in the right direction and had assured Tara that she needn't worry about the porn bitch again. Judging by the unprovoked fit at Sunday dinner, however, it seemed that Tara was hell bent on reliving her cat-fighting days by staking her claim of ownership on Jax by publicly taking on any and all women sniffing around him.

 _After all the missed opportunities to stand up and act like a righteous old lady and protect what was hers, Tara could not have picked a worse time to finally grow a pair_ , Gemma shook her head.

After being yanked aside by the new queen, Gemma had filled her in on what little she knew about the young woman who had dutifully followed Jax outside. Thinking that she had total disclosure with her old man, Gemma had been surprised to discover that Tara had no idea who Marlowe Guthrie was or that her services as the Club's doctor were no longer required. She couldn't blame Tara for feeling sucker-punched because, in spite of her reluctance to help the Club anymore, no woman wanted to learn through a third-party that she had essentially been replaced. Coupled with the discovery that your old man may possibly have a "work wife", some shit was just near impossible to brush off your shoulder.

Still, Gemma thought she had effectively soothed Tara's anxieties about the new woman and they had returned to the task of getting Sunday dinner on the table. Instead, the young doctor had stewed in her own juices, slowly building up a head of steam over the course of the evening that had finally and irrationally exploded when Jax had asked her for a beer. It had been clear for weeks now that there had been some distance between Jax and Tara and lashing out at the wrong time, in the wrong place and most definitely at the wrong person had done little to heal that breach between them. Instead, Jax had seemingly taken Marlowe's side by swiftly sending his old lady packing.

It had been the first time that Gemma could recall seeing Jax lose his shit with Tara. Even though this time around Tara may have been justified in her anger, to Gemma's way of thinking, her son's reaction had been a long time in coming. In the MC world, old ladies were expected to be docile and obedient in public, regardless of what the reality was behind closed doors with their old men. Tara had broken that rule by losing her shit in front of the entire SAMCRO family. Jax wasn't nearly as harsh as other bikers Gemma known over the years, her own husband included, but apparently he had reached the end of his rope with the concessions he'd been making for Tara.

Unfortunately, in her efforts to take on a perceived threat, Tara did not take into consideration that she wasn't just going up against Jax and the Club, but that the object of her ire was not a skank porn star teetering on six-inch Lucite heels. Marlowe Guthrie had wasted no time in standing up for herself and, knowing a bit about Marlowe's military history and training thanks to Clay, Gemma knew that Jax's old lady had probably bit off more than she was capable of chewing if Marlowe had decided to take her on.

It didn't get that far, however, and Gemma wasn't sure whether or not to be grateful as it was clear that the majority of Jax's brothers had taken offense to Tara's unprovoked attack on Marlowe. Happy had done very little to hide his displeasure with Tara, as had both Tig and Kozik. It did surprise Gemma to see that, in a relatively short amount of time, Marlowe had earned herself a measure of respect from SAMCRO that was usually reserved for associates, not Club women.

Just then she looked through the open doorway and spotted Tara's car as she entered the lot.

 _Oh shit_ , she thought, and without hesitation reached for her leather shoulder bag. Rummaging through it, she pulled out a Ziploc plastic bag containing several joints. Pulling one out, Gemma lit it with her cigarette, taking a quick hit. Watching her would-be daughter-in-law park her car, Gemma narrowed her eyes as Tara slammed the car door before stalking across the lot towards the office.

Exhaling, Gemma sighed as she suddenly felt the mellow high of the weed dull her senses. _Thank God! S_ _omething tells me I'm really going to need this shit._

Entering the office, Tara tossed her handbag on the couch, placing a hand on a cocked hip. "Don't you think it's a little early for that?" she snapped, a look of condescension on her face.

"Sweetheart, it's never too early for this shit," Gemma replied as she blew out a trail of smoke. "Especially not after last night. How are you coping?"

Tara shook her head as she practically threw herself into the chair next to Gemma's desk. "How do you think I'm coping after being humiliated by my old man?" she retorted angrily.

After being abruptly dismissed by Jax, Tara had driven home in a rage. Barely paying attention to the Prospect who had been ordered to escort her home, she had raced through stop signs and traffic lights, her anger propelling her to speed recklessly through the streets until she was finally home.

Slamming the door behind her—and in the Prospect's face—Tara barely waited to hear him pull out of the driveway before she went on a rampage in Abel's nursery. Throwing everything from toys and diapers to furniture around the room, it had taken her an hour to calm down and even longer to bring the nursery back to its pristine condition before Jax returned from Gemma's. She had been sitting in Abel's nursery coolly waiting for him to show up so that she could rip him to shreds for this latest act of betrayal and humiliation.

Instead, she had been surprised to realize that Jax's anger had matched her own as he accused her of failing to act like a proper old lady in front of his brothers. After their screaming match, in which Jax had unequivocally laid down the law, Tara refused to sleep in their bed. Opting for the daybed in the nursery, Tara had stubbornly endured a fitful and unsatisfying sleep.

Come morning, the Teller-Knowles home was as cold as fuckin' Antarctica, neither willing to back down. After making a call to Elyda about picking his son up from Gemma's, Jax had reiterated his demands before heading out of the house for parts unknown. Tara would be surprised if he wasn't, even now, hip deep in pussy thinking it was his right as some sort of a consolation prize.

"So I take it that all wasn't unicorns and rainbows when Jackson came home last night?" Gemma prodded.

"No, it wasn't," came the terse and angry reply.

Nodding her head, Gemma took another hit from her joint before offering it to Tara, who eyed her with a glacial death glare. Gemma shrugged her shoulders, bringing it back to her lips. At least one of them would be calm and mellow when Gemma said what needed to be said. "Tara, what went down last night wasn't good," she started gently.

Tara's dark green eyes were fierce as she continued to eye her would-be mentor. "Are you seriously suggesting that I wasn't justified in handling my shit?" Tara said heatedly.

"No, baby, I'm not. All I'm saying is that you picked a bad time and place to do so," Gemma replied and quickly reached out to push Tara back into her chair as the young woman went to stand up. "Listen, I really don't believe that anything is going on between Jax and the new girl. I'm just not getting that vibe," Gemma lied. "But I do know that, generally speaking, men have very fragile egos and the men in this Club are no different. _You started some shit in front of Jax's brothers_ and that doesn't happen in a vacuum, sweetheart. Jax had no choice but to react the way he did. The last thing he needs as President is having his brothers think that he's weak. Once that happens, they'll start questioning his judgment and at this time, Jax can't afford to have his brothers' think of him in any way but as a strong leader and _y_ _ou_ put that shit at risk yesterday," Gemma said in a tone that brooked no argument. "Tara, you might not like how life in an MC works, but you accepted that burden when you decided to be with my son again. I warned you that this life wasn't easy, that ultimately you would always be the one expected to make sacrifices in order to be with Jax. You get to enjoy the good times, but you're expected to endure the bad times as well," she concluded.

"I know," Tara finally muttered, running her fingers through her hair. _But lately its bad all the fuckin' time_ , she thought irately.

"Then you need to fix shit with Jax."

"Gemma, he wants _me_ to fuckin' apologize!" Tara watched as the older woman winced a little before she shrugged her shoulders.

"I'm not surprised at that. _You_ made him look like a fool, so _you're_ going to have to fix it, show that you understand your place within this family _and_ the Club," Gemma sighed ruefully. "Had Marlowe really been a croweater, no one would have given a shit and if she got uppity, I would have backed you on it, but that isn't the case here. You're already here, Tara. You might as well get it over with. The sooner you do, the sooner you can get things back on track with your old man. Marlowe's in the Clubhouse. With nobody else around to see you eat humble pie, maybe you should take the opportunity to talk to her now."

"I can't believe this shit!" Tara was enraged again. " _He's_ the one that did wrong, and _I'm_ the one who has to pay for it?"

"Do you have proof of that?" Gemma countered.

"Well, I—" Tara hesitated then sighed. "No."

"No," Gemma agreed, "you don't. All Jax did was pull her aside for a ten minute conversation. I know my son and so should you. Do you honestly believe he'd take her outside for a quick bounce with you and his son in the house? Besides, this woman has a working relationship with the Club. According to what Opie told me after you left, when Jax saw how capable she was with handling the Wade situation, he hired her specifically to relieve _you_ of the burden of being the Club's go-to for medical care. And it's a temporary gig because she plans on returning to Bakersfield at the end of the summer, so enjoy it while you can because soon you'll be back on patch-up duty," Gemma nodded as she saw Tara's look of confusion. "That's right, baby girl. When I heard there was a new girl on the lot, I checked her out personally. I wouldn't have her in my home if I thought that there was a chance that she would cause any shit between you and Jax. _You're_ my family, and you know I look out for _my_ family. After everything you and Jax have been through—Abel's kidnapping, losing the baby—there's nothing more important to me than making sure the two of you are good."

Looking at the older woman, Tara could tell that Gemma really believed her sentiments. In recent months, Tara had done her best to stay out of Gemma's orbit. The Queen of Bikers had an uncanny ability to sense when shit wasn't right and Tara feared having her own secrets exposed, including the fact that she wasn't truly committed to staying in Charming.

Tara allowed herself to tune back into Mother Gemma's words of old lady wisdom. "More importantly, Marlowe is Happy's sister. Happy, the man whose job it is to watch your old man's back. Jax is not that much of a man-whore to forget all that just for some pussy," Gemma paused. "Unless you're giving him a reason to forget."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Tara said, suddenly belligerent again. Her eyes, however, adroitly avoided Gemma's, pretty much confirming Gemma's suspicions.

Gemma sat in her chair and crossed her legs at the knees as she stubbed her joint out in the overflowing ashtray. "Baby girl, we women tend to use sex as a weapon. We use our pussies to manipulate our men and we withhold it for the same reasons. When you start withholding as punishment, that's when you start courting trouble. Just because a man's not getting pussy from his old lady doesn't mean he's going without. If you're keeping yourself on lockdown or barely participating when he wants to fuck just to make a point or to control him, you'll have no one to blame but yourself when he looks to some other bitch to give him what he's been missing," she concluded. " _Take it from_ _me, baby girl._ I've been there and it's not a place you want to be with Jax right now. You need to pull him closer to you, not shove him farther away."

 _And that concludes today's lesson_ , Gemma thought. Seeing the resigned look on Tara's face, the SAMCRO matriarch made her final decree.

"Now go handle your business and put this shit behind you while you still can."

* * *

Rinsing out her empty cereal bowl and spoon, Marlowe placed both in the dishwasher and made her way back to the bar and her sketchbook. The Clubhouse was quiet as most of the patches in residence had already left by the time Marlowe had moseyed her way out of her dorm. Having unintentionally provided the entertainment during Sunday dinner at the Morrows', she was glad to find herself alone as she wasn't in the mood to relive the experience with anyone.

Marlowe was not unaccustomed to being bawled out in front of fellow Corpsman by unit commanders and commissioned officers during her tenure in the Navy. That shit had been par for the course since recruit training and more than likely well-deserved. But being told off by a harpy of an old lady who called her a whore in front of the men whom she hoped had at least a small measure of respect for her was something entirely new and, in her mind, uncalled for. Had the setting been different, Tara Knowles had no fuckin' clue how close she had come to getting a taste of Marlowe's fist.

Growing up, Marlowe had been very much Happy's little protégé. Hap not only taught her how to defend herself but instilled in her the belief that it was _always_ best to be the one that drew first blood. The Navy, in turn, had done its level best to rid Marlowe of the ever-present huge chip on her shoulder. Her training taught her to remain cool, rational and calm when faced with a threat and to handle any situation with a proper and measured response. That training—like Happy—had also taught her how to kill and that had been the _only_ reason Tara hadn't found herself flat on her ass, wondering how the fuck she got there.

Besides, Marlowe quickly learned that she could save her aggression for another day as not only her brother had been willing to stand up for her, but several of his own Club brothers as well.

 _Including Jax_.

Marlowe allowed a sly grin to creep over her face at the thought. In her mind's eye, she must have relived that moment over and over at least twenty times in the last twelve hours. Seeing the SAMCRO President putting his old lady in check with a firm hand, dragging her out of the room and sending her ass home had given Marlowe goosebumps, then _and_ every single time she thought about it after.

As if the unexpected floor show had not been enough to almost bring the evening to a screeching halt, an already awkward situation was made more so by the only person clueless enough to address the large fuckin' elephant in the room.

_"_ _Listen, Doc, the fact is that some old ladies get it while others just flat out refuse to," Tig started loud enough to be heard by those still in the living room. "So don't sweat that shit because those that don't, usually don't last too long around here."_

_Eyeing Jax, who was standing across the room with her brother, Marlowe used her elbow to nudge the patch in the side. "You want to keep that shit to yourself, Tiggy? I would hate for Jax to rearrange your mug for you. It ain't too bad looking, you know."_

_"_ _Whatever," Tig replied, waving her concern away. "It wouldn't be the first time me and Jax got into some shit. 'Sides, I know what I'm talking about. Seeing shit go down like it just did brings back some fuckin' bullet-to-the-head worthy nightmares for me. Makes me wonder why I waited so long to ditch my ex-gash."_

_"_ _Nah, Tiggy. Colleen may have been a redheaded viper, but she would never tear a strip off ya in front of your brothers," Kozik muttered. "Tara should have contained that shit, waited to tear Jax a new one in private if she felt there was a need."_

_Marlowe watched as Kozik wiped a couple of beads of sweat from his forehead. He looks a little agitated, she realized. "You implying there was a need, Kozy?" she queried with a raised eyebrow._

_"_ _Doc, don't take shit the wrong way, okay," Kozik replied firmly. "But Jax is a grown ass man and he can do whatever the fuck he wants. Tara taking you to task was uncalled for, especially since it's not like her old man got to touch down on your fine ass."_

_"_ _And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?" she said in a low tone, her eyes focused steadily on him._

_"_ _It means the game got called on account of rain." Tig grinned as Marlowe's eyes shot daggers at him. "C'mon, Doc. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that you blew Jax off the other night or why," Tig said quietly. "Bitches tend to get a little cranky when they find out they ain't the only burger on the menu."_

Fortunately, Marlowe was saved from having her mind further blown when Gemma announced that dessert was ready. There was a near stampede as the assembled group headed for the dining room table that was heavy with cakes, pies, brownies, and cookies of different varieties.

Instead of following suit, Marlowe had stayed behind on the couch as she picked apart the scene in its entirety and discovered to her surprise yet another tidbit of information she hadn't been aware of before.

_Jax Teller has a son._

Juice had been the first one to return with a plate of assorted baked goods. Seeing Marlowe still sitting alone, her chaperones fighting over the last piece of key lime pie at the desert table, Juice decided to stop by for a little chat and to offer her some of the sweets on his plate. The Club's young Intel Officer was probably the one member she knew the least about, but she quickly learned that he was the chattiest.

With very little prompting on her part, Juice was soon telling Marlowe all about Jax's son Abel, including how Tara was not his birth mother. She didn't really know what to make of that fact, except that she was a little relieved to learn that Jax hadn't intended to cheat on the birth mother of his son. But after having gone a round with Dr. Tara Knowles after observing her throughout dinner, on some level, Marlowe could almost understand why Jax had been looking outside his home for a place to lay his pipe. The woman was clearly wound too tight, not really talking to anyone except Jax and Gemma for most of the night and after meeting her face-to-face, Marlowe was sure she had never seen the woman in or around the Clubhouse.

_Shit, with the Pres as an old man, I'd probably never let his ass off the chain. The whores on the lot would know exactly who that dick belonged to, instead of letting shit slide and then making a scene when it looks like he's straying._

Now as she sat at the bar doodling on her sketchpad, Marlowe thought long and hard about that newfound knowledge. Regardless of his harpy of an old lady or the state of their relationship, discovering that the man she had fully intended to let rock her world had a 19-month old son just proved to her that she had been right to take a step back from Jax. It had been bad enough to discover that an old lady had been a part of Jax's family tree. With an innocent child in the mix, Jax was just going to have to find someone else to destroy his family unit with. Sex may just be sex, but Marlowe didn't want a repeat performance of the night before, making her more determined to stay clear of the SAMCRO President.

So the last thing Marlowe expected to have to deal with after yesterday's scene was another, more private one with Jax Teller's old lady.

* * *

Hearing the front door of the Clubhouse open and the sharp click of booted heels on the gleaming hardwood floor, it was the tone and the stride of the same that alerted Marlowe to the presence of another woman. Looking up from her sketch book, she saw the grim face and resolute eyes of Dr. Tara Knowles.

Marlowe's expression did not waver. Instead, she carefully closed the book on her current sketch—the broad back and shoulders that, had she noticed, Tara would have recognized as belonging to her old man—and put her pencil down. Not entirely sure why the doctor was standing in front of her, the combat-tested sailor in her advised Marlowe to prepare herself for some epic shit. Getting off the bar stool, Marlowe rose to her full height of 5'10 and noted with satisfaction that even though Tara wore heels, she still towered over her.

Wearing a fitted tan leather jacket over a pair of dark wash jeans and a tightly fitted button-down blouse, Tara's make up and hair were styled to perfection. It was obvious that the woman had made the effort to look her best for what in Marlowe's mind was undoubtedly a continuation of their preempted confrontation the night before.

Marlowe smiled inwardly as she considered her own outfit consisting of an oversized white t-shirt, stone-washed denims and her ever-present combat boots. Her hair, still damp from her shower after her five-mile run, was twisted into a knot at the back of her head. Perfect old lady material she definitely was not.

For a moment neither woman said a word and the tension was palpable before Tara finally broke the silence. "I was told I'd find you in here."

Marlowe nodded her head. "Well, this _is_ where I live." She watched as Tara moistened her lips, and noted how the woman's throat and face tightened with control. "What do you want?"

"I wanted to talk to you about what happened—" Tara began.

"Really? I think you said quite enough last night," Marlowe interrupted. "There's no need to elaborate." Marlowe nearly smiled as she watched the doctor's delicate hand tighten its grip on the strap of her shoulder bag.

"I thought I should come by to clear the air between us," Tara explained.

"And just how do you plan to do that, exactly?"

"By offering an apology," Tara said briskly.

Marlowe's eyebrows winged up in astonishment. _Well, that's some shit I wasn't expecting._

"I'm sorry if anything I said made you feel uncomfortable," Tara said perfunctorily.

Marlowe smirked as she crossed her arms over her chest. "Doctor, we don't know each other at all, so please let me be clear on one thing. There ain't shit you could possibly ever say to me that would make me feel _uncomfortable_."

"I see," Tara pressed her lips together tightly. "Well, maybe _I_ need to clarify myself as well." _Damned if I'm going to do this Jackson's way._ "I may have chosen the wrong time and place to say what I did, but I meant every damn word of it," she said with confidence.

"Then why bother making the trek down here to apologize in the first place?" Marlowe countered as she leaned her back against the bar. "Why waste my time expressing bullshit sentiments?"

"Maybe because I figured it would give me the opportunity to explain a few facts to you," Tara said, her voice hard. "It's obvious that you are painfully unfamiliar with how things work in an MC."

Marlowe slowly shook her head. "Nah, I'm not buying it. I think that you here talking to me is the last place you want to be right now. That, had the choice been _yours_ , you would clear a wide berth around me. Or at least, that would have been the smart thing to do," Marlowe said with a slight smile. "Could it be that your old man has put his foot down and _ordered_ you to make nice?" she grinned as she saw Tara's eyes flash hot. "I'm right, aren't I?"

"The hell with you! I don't have to put up with this shit," Tara retorted angrily. "I'm Jax Teller's old lady, not some grubby croweater."

"Old lady, croweater, pass-around, call yourself whatever you want, Dr. Knowles, but those labels don't apply to me," Marlowe said confidently. "I work for the Club, which in my mind translates into I don't have to put up with your old lady, Queen of the MC bullshit. Unlike you, I'm not obligated to spread my legs because I _belong_ to someone or because that's the price I have to pay for the _privilege_ of hanging around the MC. Unlike you _again_ , I'm free to do _whatever_ and _whomever_ I want and there's nothing you can say or do to me that would change that, even if that included Jax."

Having already made the decision to keep her distance from Jax Teller, Marlowe couldn't help but give the arrogant doctor a solid tweak. Instead, she watched coolly as the woman took a step towards her.

"Think really hard before you keep walking," Marlowe advised calmly. "If I cause the damage, I'm not responsible for patching it up."

Coming to a stop, Tara looked at her opponent condescendingly. "You claim that you're here to do a job? Then just do it and keep your skinny ass the fuck out of Jax's way and _mine_." Marlowe watched as Tara turned on her heel and stormed outside, slamming the door behind her.

Marlowe chuckled to herself as she rolled her eyes. "Jesus, Hap. You can come out now, you outlaw busybody," she called out, turning her head to the side to see her brother come down the hallway from the dorms.

Happy casually sauntered towards Marlowe, eying her wryly. _I can always count on Marley to wrap up her shit_ , he thought with no little amount of amusement.

Copying his sister's stance, Happy leaned his back against the bar. Turning his head to face her, he gave her the eye as he noted the wide smirk on her face. "So how did ya know it was me?"

"I've got a nose like a bloodhound. I can recognize the mix of your aftershave and cigarettes from a mile away," she replied. Cocking her head towards the entrance door, she grinned. "So I take it you caught all that. I thought you were pulling out for San Bernardino early this morning."

"Got postponed. Jax wanted to take care of some shit at home first," Happy smirked. "Glad he's not here, though, 'cause it doesn't sound like it went down the way he'd planned."

Marlowe shook her head. "I can take care of myself, Hap."

"No doubt, little girl," Happy agreed. "But Jax making his old lady come down here to apologize wasn't just about you."

"I get that," Marlowe replied. "But if I never have to cross paths with his snooty old lady again, I'd feel like I won the fuckin' lottery," she stated. _I'll be damned if I know what Jax sees in her_ , Marlowe thought, trying to ignore the twinge of jealousy in the pit of her stomach. "All I really care about is not being the cause of any tension between you and Jax."

Happy pursed his lips and nodded. "Speaking of Jax," he started, his tone dark and inquiring. "You wanna tell me what's up with that?"

"There's nothing to tell," caught off guard, Marlowe replied a little feebly.

"Bullshit, little girl. I know my Pres and I know he ain't never met a pussy he didn't like."

Marlowe chuckled. "You saying he likes my pussy, Hap?" she teased coyly, but Happy wasn't smiling.

" _Any_ pussy will do, Marley," he retorted. "That's why I told you to stay away from him."

"You know, I never thought cock-blocking was your style, Hap."

"Then you must have brought amnesia back with you from Afghanistan 'cause I remember plenty of times I had to put my boot to the asses of those little punks chasing after you back in the day," Happy shot back.

"Yeah, that was then. I'm a big girl now and I don't need you protecting me from choosing who I let into my pants," Marlowe warned as she noted his Grrr-face. "Look, Hap, no need to worry. There's nothing going on between me and the Pres."

"His old lady seemed to think so last night," he replied, his voice raspy.

"Well, she was mistaken," Marlowe said and then sighed. "But not really."

"What the fuck does that mean?" Happy nearly sputtered.

"It means that I almost let him in," she admitted and carefully watched his inscrutable face. "We were supposed to hook up a few nights ago, but at the last minute I found out about Tara and bailed."

Happy stared at her for about ten seconds before he bowed his head.

 _Ah shit, he's gonna blow a fuckin' gasket_ , Marlowe thought with resignation and her eyes widened with concern as his shoulders began to shake.

"Hap?" she said hesitantly and then narrowed her eyes as her brother burst out laughing, his chuckles sounding like several large boulders grinding together. "Will you stop that shit?" she yelled, but Happy continued unabated.

"Damn, you are one cold bitch," he gasped. "You just left my brother hanging? I mean, not even a hand job?"

"Really? Can you make up your damned mind already?" Marlowe said exasperated. "Besides, I'm not too keen on being the 'other woman' no matter how hot I think he is. You should know me better than that, Hap."

Happy finally got himself under control. "Yeah, I know. You ain't been around for a while, but you haven't changed all that much. Ma did a good job on you."

"Maybe," she replied as she pulled out one of the bar stools and sat down and Happy did the same. "Jax and I had talked before dinner yesterday and we both agreed that hooking up wasn't going to happen," she explained and watched as Happy nodded.

"You don't shit where you eat," he said soberly, his amusement abated.

"I get it, Hap, especially now," she looked at him. "I didn't know he had a kid," she said quietly.

Happy shrugged his shoulders. "It ain't like he was hiding him or anything like that. Abel just ain't on the lot much. Tara doesn't bring him around."

Marlowe decided to push for a little information. "So Tara's not his birth mother?"

"Nah, Jax had another old lady," Happy replied. "He ended up shackled to a junky croweater for a minute. I don't know all the ins and outs on that shit. Tig's the gossipy bitch around here, but all I know for sure is that Abel was born premature and addicted to Meth, with a hole in his belly and another in his heart. Kid almost died."

"Shit," Marlowe said quietly. "That must have been rough."

"Yeah, it was. Tore Jax up for a while. He went through a lot of shit with his son," he replied. "You might not see him around here, but Jax really loves that kid."

 _Which is even more of a reason to stay the hell away_ , Marlowe said resolutely. "I hear ya."

"Good," he replied eyeing her. Considering the subject closed, he rubbed his belly. "I'm hungry. Why don't you go find me something to eat in the kitchen?"

Sighing, Marlowe decided to be a good sister and stood up. "What the fuck would you do without me, asshole?" she asked as she sauntered towards the kitchen.

"Get a croweater to get my breakfast and then give me a blow job," he snarked as he watched her leave. Turning around on the stool, his eyes widened as he noticed her sketchpad on the bar. Sliding it over to himself, he opened it and started flipping through the pages.

His almost-black eyes narrowed in concentration as he scrutinized the single subject matter of almost every drawing. _She's got him down pat_ , he thought irritably as he took in the many sketches of Jax, some appearing in portrait form, others random, off-the-cuff, and some very intimate. Focusing on one in particular, Happy took in his brother's stretched out form on a large bed, a sheet and blanket tangled abound his torso and chest, but revealing a well-developed ass and back.

"Shit, that's more of my brother than I needed to see," he grumbled under his breath. Closing the book, he shoved it back to where he had found it and got up to make his way to the kitchen.

He was glad to see that Marlowe hadn't lost her interest in drawing and, to his mind, her talent had definitely improved. But the fact that she was so focused on his President was somewhat disconcerting, especially after she claimed that there was nothing going on between them. Looking at her sketches, he figured that Marlowe was more than likely telling the truth. After all, there was no way she could have resisted drawing Jax in extreme detail, including the Reaper tattoo splayed across his back, if she had first-hand knowledge of it.

Still, for all their sakes, Happy decided that keeping an eye on the situation was the smart move to make.


	23. Chapter 23

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sons of Anarchy. I do, however, own Marlowe and any other OCs that appear in the 2 Sons Universe.**

* * *

_**Thursday, May 27, 2010** _

After another busy morning working in the garage, there were two starving mechanics on the hunt for some grub. Instead of making their usual mid-day trek to Hanna's Diner for lunch, however, Tig had the inside scoop that Gemma had been by the Clubhouse earlier dropping off some of her famous leftover meatloaf and a loaf of freshly baked sourdough bread. Whoever got to it first had dibs and Tig could almost taste the meatloaf sandwich he had dreamt about while in Stockton. He had missed Gemma's meatloaf more than pussy it was so damn good.

Pulling open the Clubhouse door, Tig almost took a step back as his nostrils were immediately assaulted by a noxious and vile odor. "Holy shit!" he bellowed. "What the fuck is that smell?"

"Shit, bro. Seriously, what the fuck is that?" Kozik said from behind as he covered his nose with the tail of his T-M work shirt. "Smells like death."

"Aw fuck! Tell me some douche bag didn't bring another fuckin' dead deer's head in here," Tig said irritably.

"Shut up!" came a female voice from the direction of the kitchen. "I'm sure you've shared a bed or two with pussy that smelled far worse than this. Especially you, Tig."

Pinching his nose, Tig shrugged his shoulders at Kozik. "She's actually right, though."

Kozik's lip curled in disgust. Shaking his head, he headed in the direction that the putrid smell was coming from, his appetite suddenly MIA. Deciding to see what the hell was going on, Tig followed and they both stopped just outside the kitchen, their shock apparent.

"Shit, Doc," the former SAA said, taking in the scene as he wrinkled his nose distastefully. "I've never seen _you_ in here cooking before and now I know why."

Marlowe stood in front of the large kitchen stove wearing one of Chucky's aprons tied around her waist to protect her black tank top and desert camo cargo pants. With her hair pulled up into a messy bun at the back of her head, Tig could see the beads of sweat trailing down her long, delicate neck thanks to the heat and steam emanating from the pot on the stove from which the noxious fumes were coming from.

"Doc, what the hell are you doing?" Kozik was the first of the two to venture into the kitchen, cautiously stepping close enough to peer over her shoulder. "Please tell me you ain't gonna eat that shit. If you wanna kill yourself, there are much easier ways. I'll even let you borrow my Glock."

"Fuuunny," Marlowe drawled as she continued to stir the contents of the pot. "You two ought to go out on the road with that routine. Maybe even open up for Bobby Elvis."

Finally, Tig made his way over to her as well. "It looks like some sort of soup, like some thick, beige shit soup."

"Smells like it, too," Kozik agreed.

"Stop calling my shit, shit," Marlowe said irritably. "Besides, it's not for eating, even though it's still missing one important ingredient. Where the fuck _is_ Chucky?"

Just then, the threesome heard the Clubhouse door open. The light and jaunty steps of someone skipping across the main room announced the presence of the Club's one time enemy-turned-mascot before anyone saw him.

The formerly finger-challenged man entered the kitchen carrying a brown paper bag between his faux hands pressed against his chest. "It wasn't easy 'cause this shit made me queasy, but let you down I would not. So come hither and see what I've got or it is sure to wither and rot."

Tig rolled his eyes while Kozik started laughing. "Rhyming now, Chucky?" Tig slapped the man playfully on the back of the head.

"It's my kitsch, but now I must ditch." Placing the bag on the counter next to an assortment of bottles, fresh-looking herbs and a small worn book, Chucky bowed politely to Marlowe before taking off with a little leap through the kitchen door.

"That is one freak on a leash," Marlowe shook his head somberly. "But quite handy."

"Not really, Doc," Tig wriggled his multi-ringed fingers. "Those fake digits Gemma got on eBay don't necessarily qualify as 'hands'."

"So whatcha got cookin' there?" Kozik asked, using the word "cooking" with great caution.

Marlowe placed the large wooden spoon she was using down on a trivet and turned to face the two of them. "Anybody ever tell you what a pair of nosey bitches you are?"

"Constantly . . . All the fuckin' time," they both answered together, nodding their heads in unison.

"Well, while I understand that your reputations as the resident Gossip Girls might be at stake here, what I'm doing is on a need-to-know basis and _you two_ don't need to know, so scram," she replied.

Seeing the implacable look on her face, both men realized that Marlowe wasn't going to budge.

"Whatever," Kozik said airily. "We'll find out anyway, ya know."

"Oh most definitely," Marlowe agreed, an evil shit-eating grin spreading across her face. "Eventually, but right now, not knowing is just killing ya, ain't it?"

"Fine, be that way," Tig said huffily. "Just don't let that monstrosity you're brewing anywhere near my meatloaf in the fridge. I'm coming back for it after this latrine airs out a bit."

"Oh, you mean the leftovers Gemma dropped off?" Marlowe asked and Tig nodded, giving her a look of warning. "Phil had that shit for breakfast."

Tig's eyes widened in shock before he threw his head and his hands up as if pleading with the heavens. "Muthafucker! That piece of giant turd will _never_ patch in now!" he growled, exiting the kitchen and on a full blown warpath.

With one nuisance gone, Marlowe cocked her head at Kozik, her eyebrows raised as if asking what the fuck he was still doing there.

"Okay, I get it. I'm going, but first tell me what's in the bag," Kozik said as he reached for the brown paper bag Chucky had dropped off, but Marlowe snapped it up.

"Kozy," she started, a hint of warning in her voice. "With all due respect for that top rocker you're wearing, go before I kick your ass."

"Jeez, Doc,. A'ight, I'm going."

Marlowe shook her head as she watched him exit the kitchen. Reaching into the brown paper sack, she pulled out the Mandrake root and nodded approvingly. "Chucky came through all right. Hopefully, this will do the trick," Marlowe said to herself with a smile. "And I can make my delivery tonight."

* * *

 _The life of an old outlaw biker ain't too shabby_ , Clay thought sitting on the couch with his arm draped around his old lady as they watched a classic western on the tube.

It had been a little over six weeks since Clay had stepped down as the Club's President and, all things considered, he hadn't felt the need to eat his own gun yet. As a matter of fact, he found that he was enjoying life a lot more now that he didn't have the weight of a national motorcycle club riding on his shoulders. Sure, giving up the gavel had probably been one of the hardest things he ever had to do, but the old biker had made his peace with the transition.

And with Jax.

Yeah, Clay had been somewhat miffed at Jax for the bloodless coup d'état he had orchestrated that had relieved him of the presidency, but he couldn't really blame the boy for seeing an opportunity and taking it. After all, Clay would have probably done the same thing in his position and to be a ruthless and fearless leader had been what Clay had been grooming his son for all these years.

 _Just had no clue how good of a job I was doing,_ he grinned to himself in the semi-darkness of the room.

Lost in his musings, Clay wasn't paying attention at all when Gemma jumped up from the couch.

"Where you going, babe?"

"Are you getting deaf, old man? Someone's at the back door," Gemma replied as she took off her eyeglasses and set them on the end table. She hated having anyone see her wearing them.

"Wait," Clay ordered. Getting up, he pulled his gun from the holster hanging with his kutte on the back of one of the dining room chairs. "Move aside," he said quietly as he approached the door.

With his gun cocked, Clay peeked through the shade covering the beveled glass of kitchen's back door before pulling away to look at his wife with surprise in his eyes.

"Well, well, well," he murmured with a raised eyebrow. Throwing the safety lock back on his gun, he set it down on the counter and opened the door to reveal Marlowe Guthrie.

"Hey," Marlowe greeted him quietly. "Can I come in?"

* * *

There wasn't a whole lot that could move Gemma Teller-Morrow to the point where she needed to hold back her tears. Thanks to her alcoholic mother Rose Maddoc, Gemma learned at an early age that some people considered tears a sign of weakness and, like Rose, once they knew your weakness, they did everything they could to exploit it. That's why Gemma could count the number of times she had cried over the last twenty years on one hand. She had cried when her youngest son Thomas had died, but not when JT passed away. She hadn't cried after being brutally gang-raped by an enemy of the Club, but she had when she learned that Clay had hit some young sweetbutt pussy while on a run to Indian Hills. Her tears knew neither rhyme nor reason, but Gemma knew what made a tough old lady who was willing to do whatever necessary to protect the ones she loved.

Yet, there were times—few and far between—when an outsider did something for her or the ones she held the most dear that moved her.

Tara selflessly coming to her aid after Gemma had been raped had been one such instance. It had drawn the two women together and had allowed Gemma to shelve her concerns and feelings of resentment about Tara reentering her son's life.

Most recently, it had been the actions of her closest friend, the former-Chief Wayne Unser. Pitting himself against the Club after the drive-by shooting that led to the death of Deputy Chief David Hale had put him at odds with the Club. Unser eventually reentered the Club's good graces when he assisted them in ridding themselves of Special Agent June Stahl. As a result, Gemma had done much in the way of looking after Wayne after his wife divorced him, leaving him with only the contents of an old trailer for a home.

Both Tara and Wayne had risked their careers and personal freedom for Gemma and the Club, but even then she hadn't felt even remotely close to tears. But as she stood and listened to Marlowe's reason for stopping by unannounced, Gemma's vision blurred momentarily and she found herself fighting back tears. Watching Marlowe fidget nervously, bouncing a leg on the ball of her foot as she spoke, Gemma felt truly moved by the willingness of Happy's sister to offer some relief to her husband.

"I've been toying with this idea for a while, but it took a minute to get my aunt back in Bakersfield to send me some of the things I needed," she explained. "I finally got it all together, but after what went down here last Sunday, I wasn't sure I'd be welcomed back—" Marlowe stopped abruptly to mentally slap herself on the forehead.

 _Shit, knucklehead, why bring that up now?_ she thought. However, Marlowe was surprised to see the SAMCRO matriarch wave it off.

"Don't give that shit another thought. All that nonsense is water under the fuckin' bridge," Gemma said wryly. "Besides, what's life without a little drama?"

"Well, all righty then," Marlowe grinned. "If that's the case, then sit your ass down, Pres. I don't have all night and I'm sure you don't either," she ordered, her snarky bravado doing an excellent job hiding her relief at not being shown the door.

 _She is certainly a bossy bit of goods_ , Gemma thought with some admiration and a lot of amusement. Clearing her throat and sniffling slightly, Gemma watched Marlowe wave her old man to the table.

With a slight smile, Clay sat down in his customary seat at the head of the dining room table as Marlowe laid out her paraphernalia. "Gemma, please sit on the other side of Clay and put these on," she said, tossing her a pair of surgical gloves.

Gemma wrinkled up her nose at the gloves and looked down at her freshly done manicure. "I need to wear these?"

"Uh yeah, unless you want to smell like this shit too," Marlowe replied. "Also, since you don't suffer from his condition, you don't want this salve penetrating your skin. While it's not dangerous, it won't feel nearly as soothing on you." Sitting down on Clay's right, Marlowe snapped on a pair of gloves and took his right hand in her own. "Now you take his other hand and do what I do," she instructed.

"Hmm, this is kind of kinky," Clay murmured sexily, his eyebrows bouncing up and down.

"I'm flattered, but don't get any ideas," Marlowe chastised Clay gently. "I've heard _all_ about your old lady and I happen to like my nose right where it is, thank you."

Gemma cocked her head towards the young woman, a smile creeping over her features. "What have you heard?"

"Oh, just that you have a few tricks up your sleeves when it comes to skateboards and I don't mean kick-flips or Ollies either," Marlowe grinned as she took a dollop of the thick cream out of the container before passing it across the table to Gemma. "And that noses don't stand a fighting chance against your elbow either," she continued as she smeared the cream on several points on the back and front of Clay's hand. "Ever take a self-defense class?"

"Nope, sweetie," Gemma chuckled jovially. "I'm all self-taught."

"Could've fooled me," Marlowe smiled. "Going for the nose is a classic offensive move taught to women for self-defense. If you can't kick 'em in the balls, nothing hurts as much as getting popped real good on the schnoz and if you can make 'em bleed, chances are you can make 'em run too."

"Holy shit, Gem!" Clay exclaimed. "I think I'm in love!"

The trio laughed companionably when suddenly Clay let out a low, slow moan. Leaning back in his chair, Clay closed his eyes as the two women continued working the funky ass cream into his hands, the tingling heat of the mixture penetrating his skin.

"Good Lord, this shit feels like its sinking into my bones," he almost purred.

"Excellent. That means it's working," Marlowe advised. "It'll feel even better once we get these gloves on you."

"I got to wear gloves, too?" Clay opened one eye and looked at Marlowe skeptically.

"At night, after you apply the cream. The gloves will keep the salve from rubbing off and they'll trap the heat in so it'll continue working overnight. If you do this every night for the next couple of weeks, I guarantee that it'll bring the inflammation down and alleviate some of the joint pain in the morning. Do this at night and the exercises I taught you in the mornings and you'll find you won't need those cortisone shots as often," Marlowe explained.

"And you made this?" Gemma asked somewhat skeptically.

Marlowe nodded. "Can't take all the credit, though. This is just one of the home remedies Tía learned from her grandmother in Cuba. Before the surgery on her knee, she practically lived on this stuff, but it's not a cure-all. You might want to look into some surgical alternatives yourself." Completely focused on working the salve into Clay's hands, Marlowe missed the sardonic look Gemma shot her old man. "Since swelling and water retention can aggravate an arthritic condition," she continued. "I would strongly advise you to consider changing his diet."

"And do what?" Gemma asked curiously as she continued rubbing Clay's left hand gently.

"Go organic for meats and vegetables. Definitely cut his salt intake by half, if not more. If you must buy canned or processed foods, read the labels and keep track of the sodium content. The more sodium in his diet, the more water he'll retain and the more damage he does to his joints. Oh, and cutting down on the alcohol won't hurt either."

"Hey, hey, hey, now you're pushing it, girlie," Clay interrupted. "And I'm right here, you know. You can talk to _me_ , Doc."

Marlowe sighed with faux-exasperation. "Men are so damn touchy," she directed at Gemma as Gemma's shoulders shook with laughter. "Besides, I know who the 'power' in this 'power couple' is. I'm just cutting out the middle man," she teased.

"Sassy bitch," Clay muttered, eyeing Marlowe.

"You're welcome," she replied with a cheeky grin.

* * *

_**Tuesday, June 1, 2010** _

"This shit's not sitting right with me, brother," Kozik said to Tig as he got up from the picnic table.

"Nah, man, me neither," Tig agreed as he dropped his cigarette on the ground and stamped it out. "So you didn't get a sense anything was wrong with SAMTAZ when you were down there? After the shit with Little Paul went down and the vote to keep the meth trade, maybe there was some sort of resentment towards Armando." He watched his brother shake his head.

"No, bro. The crew seemed tight and this second run went even smoother than the first. This Romeo dude loves the shit we've been getting for them and pressed Jax to set up a meet with the Irish for the big guns. Apparently, they got some shit heating up with a rival cartel. Clay reached out to the Kings, but all he could get was an agreement to send us some sample merch from up north," Kozik explained.

Tig nodded. "When are Ope and Miles due back from Vancouver?"

"Tomorrow. If the Cartel likes what they see, the Irish will be here next week to meet them in person and set the terms of the deal," Kozik said as he ran a hand through his choppy blond hair. "But now with Armando MIA and one of the Mayans' taco trucks carrying a full load of coke off the grid, maybe now's not the time to push for a meeting with Galen O'Shay."

"Don't sweat it, bro. Jax has shit under control," Tig assured him. "I gotta head up to the Wahewa Rez with a couple of Prospects to pick up some ammo and then I'm heading to the warehouse. Let me know as soon as we get any word on Armando."

"Yeah, sure, man," Kozik replied a little grimly. "Go take care of business."

"Hey, you a'ight?" Tig frowned at him.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm good," Kozik waved a hand as he walked towards the Clubhouse entrance. "Catch ya later."

Tig pursed his lips as he watched his brother disappear into the Clubhouse. While he didn't consider himself to be the sharpest pencil in the box, he knew Kozik well enough to know that something wasn't quite right.

* * *

Slamming the door behind him, Kozik sighed wearily as he sat down on his bed. Lately, it seemed that there was just way too much shit running through his head. The thing of it was that most of it—if not all of it—had nothing at all to do with the Club. Yeah, sure, the pessimist in him would take over from time to time and Kozik would worry about how shit would ultimately play out with the Cartel. Even though all signs had been pointing at everything going smoothly for the Club with its new gun business, with SAMTAZ's President now missing and the Mayans' shipment gone AWOL, Kozik figured it was just a matter of time before shit went sideways for SAMCRO once again.

Despite those very real concerns, however, Herman Kozik had other issues nagging at him, so much so that he had reached out to his brother in San Diego to provide him with some long-ago forgotten and buried Intel.

Of the two Kozik boys, Lewis was the oldest. He was also the stable and well-grounded one. An upstanding law-abiding citizen since birth, Lewis lived a boring and vanilla life, or at least that was how the younger Kozik viewed his brother. But in spite of their differences, Kozik knew that his brother loved him unconditionally and, in a way only a brother could get away with, with a healthy dose of tough love.

Lew had been the first to spot the changes in his little brother after he had joined the Marines. He was also the first and only person Kozik would ever call when he got into trouble. In spite of knowing that drugs were the root cause of his problems, Lew never turned his back on him. Not even when Kozik ended up losing everything he had worked for in the Marines and was given a medical discharge.

Although family and friends counseled him against getting involved in the mess his junky brother had made of his life, Lew had done his level best to get his kid brother clean. It hadn't been easy, but nothing worth fighting for ever was, the older Kozik was fond of saying. Lew never gave up on him—had even bitch-slapped him once or twice to get his point across—and Herman loved his brother for it. Even though they'd had a bit of a falling out when Kozik aligned himself with an outlaw MC, the Kozik boys were still close and kept in touch, with Herman making the occasional trip to San Diego to visit his big brother and his family.

With his memory of the days and months after his discharge lost to drug-induced amnesia, Kozik knew Lewis was a notorious pack rat and took the chance of contacting his brother. Just like he suspected, Lewis had put his old foot locker in storage and had forgotten about it. Kozik had his brother send it up to him, and now as he sat in his dorm staring at it, Kozik wondered if maybe he should just leave the past in the rearview.

"I can try," Kozik murmured to himself as he lifted the long chest onto the bed. "But shit from the past has a way of making itself known even if all you want is to forget."

Kozik carefully opened the foot locker containing the remains of the life of one Lance Corporal Herman Kozik, a young and stupid asshole of a kid Kozik could no longer relate to. Pulling out his neatly folded dress uniform, he placed it on the bed. Rooting through old souvenirs from Okinawa and the Philippines, books and old letters, he finally found what he was looking for, a stack of photos held together by a fraying rubber band.

Pulling them out, Kozik leaned his back against the headboard and started flipping through the photos. He stopped, grinning at one in which he and Tig were outfitted in their green camos, the ex-sniper's dark and curly hair so short Kozik could see his scalp.

"Damn," he chuckled aloud. "I forgot how fugly Tiggy looks with a buzz cut." Putting it aside and making a mental note to bust his brother's balls later, Kozik continued to coast through his memories. Stopping every once in a while to try to put names to the faces of his past, ten minutes later he flipped to picture that made his belly clench.

"Shit," he barely managed to say as he pulled the picture out of the stack and brought it closer to his face.

 _I was so fuckin' young, so damn cocky back then_ , Kozik thought as he looked at the younger version of himself in the familiar surroundings of the Star Bar. Back in the 70's and 80's, the Star Bar in San Diego had been a popular local hang-out boasting a customer base that was 90% military personnel—mostly sailors and Marines and a handful of old Vets.

Staffed by attractive Asian hostesses-slash-bartenders, the bar had a well-earned reputation for good times, where the drinks were stiff and cheap and the other 10% of the customer base was made up primarily of camp followers—or what was often referred to as "Marine Mattresses"—beautiful women whose sole purpose in life was to bar crawl on the hunt for sailors and soldiers to party and eventually hook up with.

Looking at the gorgeous blonde he had carelessly thrown his arm around in the photo, memories came flooding back. He had been green and naïve back then and proved it by falling for the biggest camp follower of them all and, until this very day, his greatest regret.

_Shannon Guthrie._

* * *

_**Thursday, June 3, 2010** _

Marlowe felt her heart beating erratically in her chest. She realized that the adrenaline surge she was experiencing was undoubtedly a by-product of Happy's terse phone call and his inability to communicate like a fuckin' human being. She had actually been on her way out to visit Amelia when his call had come through on her prepay.

" _Drop whatever shit you're doing," the raspy and familiar voice echoed in her ear. "And get your ass to Exit 22 on I-18."_ Before Marlowe could question him further, his next words sent a chill through her bones. _"_ _Bring your bag_ ," he said cryptically before hanging up. It hit her then that Happy hadn't been addressing his sister—he had been issuing an order to the Club's medic and that could only mean one thing.

Someone needed her help.

Marlowe turned around and ran back to her dorm, ignoring Filthy Phil as he called after her, asking what was wrong. Throwing open her door, she grabbed the heavy backpack sitting in the corner of her room and hurriedly made her way back out the door. Seeing her suddenly reappear with her bag in tow, Phil was silent as it didn't take a genius to figure out that Doc was on call.

Tossing her bag onto the passenger seat of her loaner car, Marlowe jumped in, unaware that Gemma was watching intently from the doorway of the garage's office, and quickly hauled ass out of the lot and to the highway. Her mind was completely focused on the task at hand, which at this point was getting to the location Happy had directed her to as fast as possible.

Officially hired as the Club's medic several weeks ago, this would be the first time she had been called on for assistance and was determined not to screw shit up. For the first time since being out on temporary disability from the Navy, Marlowe was being called upon to do what she did best, to render aid to someone in need and she realized just how good it felt to be able to answer the call to duty once again.

Coming up on Exit 22, Marlowe slowed down as she approached the turn. Getting off the highway, she wasn't surprised to spot Happy perched on his ride on the side of the road. Not bothering to wave her to a stop, he hopped on his bike and took off. Marlowe figured that was his way of telling her to follow him.

Getting on the highway once again, she followed behind Happy until they hit another exit and took a series of local back roads where the landscape was dotted with farming acreage and deeply wooded trees. They eventually reached a large, gated property surrounded by an electronic fence and large posts to which security cameras were affixed making Marlowe wonder just where in the hell was Hap taking her.

Waiting for Miles, who was sitting in a small security station at the entrance to open the gate and let them through, they continued for about another half a mile into the property. Finally, they pulled up on a large wooden building conveniently concealed by the surrounding trees and underbrush making it impossible to be seen from the main road.

Marlowe's eyebrows rose into her hairline as she noted several unfamiliar patches standing in front of a long line of bikes parked off to the side and the name of the local big wig, Oswald, on the sign above what appeared to be a very old barn. Following Happy, she pulled her car to a stop. Grabbing her backpack, Marlowe exited the car.

Happy wasted no time with pleasantries. "C'mon," he ordered. Grabbing her upper arm, he practically perp-walked her to the building, ignoring his brothers who were calling for an introduction.

"Hey! I'm not a fuckin' sack of potatoes," Marlowe protested as she wrestled her arm out of his grip. "I've got the motor skills needed to get there on my own, Hap."

"Then get a move on, little girl. You're needed."

The closer she got to the building's entrance, the easier it was for Marlowe to figure that shit out for herself as a man's painful moaning made its way to her. Coming to a stop in the open entrance, she pursed her lips as she quickly surveyed the scene. "Okay, let's do this," she said to herself as she strode forward to the group of men surrounding the groaning man on the ground.

"Good, you made it," Jax said as he walked over to Marlowe. "Got a little situation here."

"I see," she replied, walking past him to examine the injured man.

He was young, in his mid-20's, and was wearing a black graphic tee underneath his prospect kutte and a pair of now-bloody jeans. Clutching at his leg valiantly, he was trying to stifle his pain by biting his lips. Someone had thought to use a bandana as a tourniquet, tying it above what was obviously a gunshot wound in an attempt to stop the bleeding.

Kozik, who had been ministering to the young man, stood up. "Everything's gonna be just fine, man. Doc's here and she's gonna patch you up," he said, the relief evident on his face. "Hey, Doc," he offered.

"Hey, Kozy," she replied. "Let's see what we got. How you doing, Prospect?" Marlowe said gently as she squatted on her haunches next to him.

"Not too good," he muttered and let go of a moan. "Bitch hurts like a motherfucker. Can't believe I survived a tour in Iraq just to end up getting shot in a fuckin' barn back home, you know," he griped as sweat poured down his face.

"Well, damn little brother, I guess I _have_ to patch you up now, huh?" Marlowe eyed the tat on his forearm. "Army Infantry?" she guessed.

"Yeah, the 25th. You serve?"

Marlowe nodded as she opened her med kit. "Three tours. Good thing for you I'm a Corpsman," she grinned as she saw the relief in his eyes. "So you don't mind a squid taking care of ya?"

"Shit no, Doc! Please patch me up, starting with some drugs."

"Already on it, soldier," Marlowe replied as she prepared a hypodermic injection of Demerol. "Are you taking any medications or have allergies or sensitivities I should know about?"

The Prospect shook his head. "No, none."

"Good," Marlowe replied as she quickly swiped his upper arm with an alcohol pad before injecting the young man with the painkiller.

As she did a quick examination of the wound, Marlowe could hear his breathing regulate as the Demerol kicked in. Standing up, Marlowe quickly surveyed the interior of the building for a viable work space and shook her head grimly. There were crates and boxes, stacks of planks of wood and various other building materials and carpentry equipment, but no table. Then she noticed the door.

Turning to Jax, who had been standing quietly to the side with Opie and a patch from the Tacoma charter watching her every move, she nodded her head towards the door. Before she could open her mouth, however, the Tacoma patch, who had to be in his 50's, spoke up.

"How's my Prospect?" he asked gruffly.

"Well, looks like he's been shot," Marlowe started cheekily. "The bullet hit bone, which makes him a tough son of a bitch for not howling in pain. The slug didn't fragment, so I'm guessing it didn't penetrate the bone either, but it's still gonna take me a minute to dig it out. Aside from pain as he recovers, I don't foresee any problems." She watched as the man's shoulders slumped in relief.

"Thanks, Doc. I do appreciate it," Tacoma said quietly.

"I told ya you had nothing to worry about, Lee," Jax said with assurance as he slapped his brother on the back. Turning to Marlowe, he said, "You're working on Lee's son, Jimmy. Lee's the SAMTAC Pres and Jimmy's the charter's newest Prospect."

"I'll take good care of him," Marlowe said, paused and then nodded towards the door at the far end of the building. "Can I ask what's in there?" She watched as the gentle giant of the Club raised an eyebrow.

"Some shit," Opie replied.

She held back a sigh. "Would that shit include a table, maybe some lighting?" she countered.

"Yeah, it might," he replied.

"Good. Then can we move Jimmy in there?" Marlowe watched as everyone started eyeing each other and sighed before walking over to address Jax. "Look, whatever's in that room doesn't concern me and it's not my business, but the guy on the ground with a bullet in his leg _is_ ," she said quietly. "I'd love to wow ya, Pres, and show you I'm worth every penny of my impressive salary by taking care of this shit right here in the dirt, but I know I'd do a much better job if he's comfortable and in a relatively sanitary environment. Can we move him in there, please?" she asked respectfully.

Jax looked at Opie, who shrugged and then nodded. "All right, Doc. We'll do it your way," Jax replied.

* * *

Marlowe wasn't used to having an audience as she worked. Typically, whenever she was busy tending to the wounded, the rest of the platoon had been too busy laying down cover or working out strategies while under heavy fire or otherwise too busy trying to stay alive to watch every move she made. She was trusted to do the job while everyone else concentrated on the mission at hand.

Today, however, as she worked on young Jimmy Thornton, the room was crowded with patches as they stood around the table to watch her.

"So does anyone want to volunteer how this happened?" Marlowe asked as she gently prodded the wound with a surgical clamp and extractor.

"Stupid, asshole," Jimmy said sleepily, now much more comfortable and feeling no pain.

When he failed to elaborate, Tig continued relating the story to Marlowe. "Stupid shithead Prospect was testing out some hardware. Should have sprayed left instead of right and caught his fellow shithead in the leg."

"Dumb motherfucker," Jimmy groaned. "Did I tell you that I made it out of the Army clean only to get shot in fuckin' sunny California? If he's still a Prospect by the time my leg heals, I'm gonna kick his ass," he slurred.

"Shit yeah," Jax said as he lit a cigarette. "You can even use our ring to do it in." he offered as his brothers chuckled.

"Well, that might take a minute," Marlowe said as she finally dropped the slug onto the table. "Fortunately, it was a pretty clean shot. Unfortunately, it nicked your tibia, so I'm afraid pain is going to be your companion for a while, but don't worry. The Vicodin Fairy paid me a visit and left me a nice supply under my pillow for ya. You're going to be just fine, Prospect."

"Thanks, Doc. I 'preciate it," Jimmy slurred.

After suturing the wound, it was a relatively simple task to dress it before Marlowe pronounced Jimmy the Prospect well enough to travel. His father and a Tacoma member carried the wounded man out of the room.

"He needs to be kept under observation," Marlowe said as she finished re-packing the contents of her med kit. "At least for the next twenty-four hours to make sure no infection sets in. The antibiotics I put him on should kill just about anything, but I'd rather keep an eye on him to make sure he doesn't develop a fever."

Jax nodded. "The cargo van will be here in a minute to transfer him to the Clubhouse. I'll have him put in the dorm for visiting members next to yours, a'ight?"

"That works," she replied as Happy, followed by Kozik and Tig, joined them.

"Shit is all set," Happy said, eyeing Marlowe. "Prospect just pulled out with Tacoma. He's gonna be Jimmy's personal bitch for a good while." He watched as his President nodded.

"Your sister did a damn good job patching up Lee's kid," Jax said.

Happy shrugged one shoulder. "Yeah, she did a'ight."

Jax grinned at Marlowe's suddenly petulant expression. "I appreciate the support, Hap," she said sarcastically. "So tell me, was it _your_ Prospect that shot poor Jimmy?"

Happy narrowed his eyes at Marlowe. "No. It. Wasn't."

"Oh, good. That's a relief. I mean, it sounds like the Prospect made a rookie mistake," Marlowe continued to goad Happy. "And since not everyone's meant to teach, I just assumed he was one of yours." She smiled prettily at a glaring Happy as some of his brothers did their best to keep from smiling while others just busted out with laughter.

"He _wasn't_ my Prospect," Happy ground out slowly.

"No, no, I got that, Hap," Marlowe said placatingly. "Some people just can't handle the power of a weapon. For some of us, it just comes naturally."

Tig grinned as he leaned against the table. "And what weapons just came naturally for you to _handle_ , doll face?" he asked lasciviously.

"I'll pretend you mean while I was in the service and say the standard issue M-16," Marlowe replied. "I also carried an M9 Beretta and a KA-BAR, like the one your Pres has strapped to his thigh. Still have it too," she said. Raising her foot, she pulled the large knife from her boot.

Without saying a word, Happy turned to walk over to a crate that was sitting against the wall. Reaching inside, Marlowe's eyes widened as he pulled out a gun. "You know what this shit is?" he asked grimly.

She shrugged. "I'm not too familiar with Eastern Block weapons, but I'm guessing an AK-47."

"That's right, girlie. _This_ is the shit." He placed it on the table in front of her, tossing a screwdriver next to it. "Take it apart," he challenged. The room was suddenly quiet as they stared each other down before Marlowe reached for the gun.

Turning it over once to get a good look at it, Marlowe inwardly marveled at its hefty beauty. It was definitely a serious piece of weaponry and holding it in her hands she could tell what kind of damage it could do. Flicking a look at the SAMCRO President, she noted the sly grin on his face and that's what set her off.

_Oh, I'll show you bitches I can handle my shit._

"Time me," she said and several patches fumbled to whip out their cell phones.

Tig beat them all to it. "Okay, Doc. Get ready . . . Go!"

Removing the magazine, Marlowe pulled back the charging handle to eject any loaded rounds. Quickly removing the cleaning rod located at the front of the rifle and below the barrel, she then removed the bolt spring by pressing the same button toward the front of the gun. Sliding it out of its channel, she removed it by pulling it backward. Finally, pulling out the bolt and charging handle, she grabbed the screw driver to unlock the gas tube, slamming it down next to the neatly disassembled weapon on the table. Folding her arms over her chest, Marlowe grinned at Happy, who slowly nodded his approval as his brothers clapped loudly, which attracted the attention of several patches who came into the room to see what was going on.

"Thirty-four point five seconds," Tig marveled, his tone deadly serious. "I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm so incredibly hard right now it's painful."

Marlowe cleared her throat. "Okay, just in case I end up needing this," she kidded and quickly picked up the AK and reassembled it in less time than it took to take it apart.

"Damn, she's good," Marlowe heard one of the SAMTAC members say.

"Yeah," Jax replied as he focused deep blue eyes on Marlowe. "She most definitely is."


	24. Chapter 24

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sons of Anarchy. I do, however, own Marlowe and any other OCs that appear in the 2 Sons Universe.**

* * *

_**Thursday, June 3, 2010** _

One of the last to enter the Chapel, Jax took his seat at the head of the table and surveyed the room. It had already proven to be a long and hectic day for SAMCRO even though it was barely past noon. While his brothers continued to talk amicably among themselves, Jax lit a cigarette as he let his mind wander back to the impressive set of skills the Club's new medic had put on display earlier.

Jax had never doubted his decision to hire Marlowe Guthrie and if he hadn't been truly taken with Happy's sister before, he most certainly was now. Not only had she done her job well, but she obviously had the kind of know-how that only came from experience gained through being involved in some truly fucked up situations. Had she been a man, he probably would have offered to sponsor her himself as a Prospect. But a man she was not.

 _No, Tigger wasn't the only one sporting a hard on_ , Jax thought with some amusement.

Apparently, the sad news that Marlowe was off-limits hadn't made its way down to his own dick yet. It had been sexy as hell watching her fondle that AK-47, her thought process playing out on her pretty face as she tried to figure out how it worked. Anyone who could so quickly determine how to disassemble and reassemble a previously unknown weapon simply by handling and examining it had some serious skills, including the ability to read a situation and quickly come to the right conclusion, a definite asset to the Club.

 _And for a woman, it's just a little fuckin' intimidating_.

Jax Teller loved women. His brothers would say that he loved pussy, and even though that was basically the God's-honest-truth, he also had a great amount of respect for the keepers of the "V". In many ways, he knew that a woman had the ability to be stronger than a man. He had seen it in his own mother and, in spite of her sometime-meddlesome ways, Gemma Teller-Morrow had a spine of steel and he admired her for that. Thanks to the example she set with her strength and love of family, Jax grew up knowing that the female species came in all forms, not just in the croweater variety.

That being said, Jax was accustomed to certain types of women. Of those that frequented the Clubhouse, there were a few who were supremely strong and self-assured, like his mother, while others were of a more delicate nature—fragile and in constant need of rescuing. More common, however, were the ones that, as Chibs would say, were only there for a punch up their skirts, using their bodies and looks as payment for the companionship and protection of the Club.

Marlowe Guthrie was in a category all her own because even weeks later, Jax was still unable to figure her out. It would have been easy to mistake the willowy and slender woman as fragile, but she was definitely strong and independent. Not innocent in the least, you could look into her beautiful gray eyes and know that they had seen their share of horror and death without even knowing her history. With most of the Club unaware of her more turbulent background, Jax knew that his brothers would have been even more impressed today had they known that the Club's medic had also served some time.

Suddenly realizing that Opie was giving him the eye, Jax figured he needed to stop daydreaming about what was essentially forbidden fruit and get to the work at hand. Picking up the gavel, he slammed it down to open the meeting. While the Club's official meeting was tomorrow, with the arrival of the sample guns, much had to be discussed sooner rather than later about the Irish's upcoming visit.

"I think the first order of business is to acknowledge a job well done by Opie and Miles for getting the merch down here safely." As the patches around the table hooted and clapped their hands, Jax turned to address his VP. "So, as far as you could tell, there shouldn't be any problems getting the new hardware through customs?"

"No, brother, it was smooth sailing. Our guy expedited the crates through himself just like all our other shit," the gentle giant replied. "Miles and I had a pretty easy run back, drove at the speed limit and in plain clothes to keep off the pig radar. As long as we continue to handle our shit like professionals. I don't see us having any problem moving the bigger merch like we do the smaller hardware."

"Good," Jax nodded. "Hap's taking care of security at the warehouse. You got the rotation in place yet?"

Happy nodded briskly. "Yeah, everything's good. With Tacoma in the house, I got security set up four-on-four—four bodies, every four hours protecting the guns. A patch at the entrance, two outside the warehouse walking the perimeter, and one stationed inside at the door of the storage room. I'll be doing a run through at every shift change and everyone's packing serious heat. Unless some shit falls out of the sky, I don't see it going south," he concluded.

"Shite betta not, brutha," Chibs replied. "Until dey say otherwise, those guns are da property of da Irish and they'll nae' be too happy if sometin' happens to dem."

"No, they won't," Clay added from his end of the table, his tone grim. "I've known Galen O'Shay for many years. He has very little tolerance for what he perceives as incompetence if shit gets twisted."

"So we make sure shit don't get twisted," Jax countered. Moving on to a much more serious topic, Jax looked at Piney. "Any word on Armando?"

The taciturn biker put down his empty glass. "I spoke to his VP this morning. It's not looking good, Jax. Armando has been MIA nearly 48 hours. SAMTAZ is getting the shakes, fearing the worst."

"I gotta say, I don't blame 'em. I'm getting a bad feeling about this shit, too," Tig commented. "I mean the Mayans lost their truck and their guys 'round the same time Armando went missing. I know there's plenty of miles between Oakland and Tucson, but this is too much of a coincidence."

"Yeah, and if it is connected, it's prolly easy to figure out that it has to do with the Cartel business," Bobby chimed in.

"Which is why I was against this shit from the beginning," Piney said, his anger evident. "We're small fish in a big fuckin' pond dealing with shit that's too big for us to handle."

"You might be right on that, old man," Jax said evenly, flicking ash into the ashtray. "But crying about this shit ain't gonna make it go away. Now, I reached out to Romeo, asked him to beat the bushes and see what he can find out about Armando, see if it's connected to our business. Romeo knows he needs to guarantee our safety for our association to continue. He _needs_ us in order to fight his war with the Lobos. He won't let anything jeopardize that and he knows protecting our interests is the only way he's going to keep us happy and the guns and the drugs flowing. Apparently, Alvarez is pushing him too, which helps us because it's the profits of the Mayan drug running that Galindo's using to finance payment for the guns. Believe me, Romeo is not going to let _anything_ fuck this shit up."

No sooner did the words come out of Jax's mouth, the windows of the Chapel exploded with gunfire.

* * *

After checking on the Prospect Jimmy, who was now resting comfortably in one of the dorms, Marlowe had barely set foot in the bar area when the unmistakable sound of automatic weapons fire erupted.

Whirling around to face the stunned Prospect behind the bar, Marlowe ordered, "Get down! NOW!" before she dropped to the ground herself. Looking up, she saw the Chapel doors thrown wide open as numerous patches burst through with guns drawn. A barrage of gunfire shattered the windows running along the left side of the Clubhouse as bullets peppered the walls over her head and the floor around her as the occupants of the main room ran and ducked for cover.

About to crouch and crawl her way to a position of safety behind the bar, Marlowe found herself being tackled back onto the ground as a body slammed into her. Strong arms wrapped themselves around her head, protecting her from bullets and the rain of broken liquor bottles as they shattered right above her head. Once broken glass stopped coming down, her self-appointed protector shifted his weight. Turning her head, Marlowe's eyes locked on the deep blue ones of the SAMCRO President.

"You a'ight?" Jax did a quick scan for injuries as Marlowe nodded shakily. Before she could open her mouth, she found herself being dragged and hustled behind the bar, the sound of tires squealing across the black top outside coming through the broken windows. "Stay down," he ordered. Pulling the Glock he kept strapped to his leg, Jax shoved it into her hands. "You shoot anyone that comes through that door not wearing a kutte," he shouted at her before stumbling to a quick crawl, an AK in his hand as he made his way to the door.

Closing her eyes tightly, Marlowe willed herself into taking several deep breaths to keep herself from hyperventilating. Forcing down her fear to be dealt with later as gunfire continued to rip through the air, Marlowe quickly checked the Glock's clip, and followed Jax to the door, keeping low to the ground."Can't stay put, outlaw," she mumbled to herself. "I won't go down like that. Not without a fight."

Now standing flush against the wall next to the entrance, Marlowe peered out onto the lot. She watched as the area outside the Clubhouse was swarmed by SAMCRO and SAMTAC members alike aiming and shooting high-powered weapons at a red pickup truck. As the truck skidded to a near-stop before wildly changing direction back towards the exit, Marlowe saw a man crouching on the bed of the truck toss a large black duffel bag over the side. It landed on the hood of Gemma's SUV before sliding and falling in a heap on the other side.

 _Shit!_ Without hesitation, Marlowe propelled herself forward, crouched low but sprinting towards the Escalade with only one thought running through her mind.

_IED!_

Paying little attention as the Club continued to return fire at the quickly retreating pick up, her only objective was to retrieve the bag she suspected contained an improvised explosive device, hoping to throw it over the fence and into the empty lot on the other side of T-M.

"Marley! What the fuck are you doing?!" Happy shouted from across the lot, but Marlowe paid little attention. Shoving Jax's gun into the waistband of her jeans, she scooped the bag up with her right hand. The moment she hoisted it up, however, Marlowe realized by the weight and feel of it that she didn't have to worry.

Dropping the bag at her feet, Marlowe crouched down on her haunches and unzipped it. "Well, shit," she muttered. "Just what the fuck have I gotten myself into?"

But she would have to figure out the answer to that later. With the pickup truck screeching its way off the lot, at the moment, Marlowe had scarier shit to deal with than what was in the bag as Happy stormed towards her. "Little girl, I should snap your fuckin' neck! What the fuck are you doing out here?!" Happy bellowed as he ran up to her, several patches following in his wake, dragging a resistant prisoner.

"I thought it was a bomb," Marlowe managed to reply calmly. "I wanted to toss it over the fence before somebody called in a detonation code."

"Are you out of your fuckin' mind?!" he yelled, pretty damn close to throttling her within an inch of her life.

"Not since I've been on my meds. Good thing, too, 'cause shit like this can fuck a girl up for life," Marlowe replied. Standing up, she gestured to the bag. "See for yourself," she invited gamely, sliding her hands into the back pockets of her jeans.

Bending down, Happy used the muzzle of his Sig Sauer to nudge the bag open. Not sure what he was expecting, but not surprised either, he found himself staring at four severed human heads. The one he recognized belonged to the SAMTAZ President Armando Garcia.

"Fuck."

* * *

Jax's jaw clenched as he looked at the bag by his feet containing the head of his Tucson brother. At the moment, however, he didn't know who he was more furious at, the Lobos, the ones most likely responsible for the murder of Armando and the attack on the Clubhouse or Marlowe for disobeying his orders. Right now, he decided to focus his ire on the one standing right in front of him.

With flared nostrils, Jax turned to face Marlowe. "I thought I told you to stay inside!" he said angrily as his SAA nodded in ferocious agreement.

"I'm sorry, Jax. When I saw him toss the bag, my mind automatically jumped to the worst case scenario and I made a judgment call," Marlowe replied apologetically. "If it makes a difference, this little pop off was nothing compared to what I'd wake up to in Kabul."

"NO! It doesn't make a difference to me because we're not _in_ fuckin' Kabul, Doc!" Jax yelled, the ferocity of which forced Marlowe to take a step back, a frown on her face. Closing his eyes, Jax ran his hands over his face in an effort to calm himself down, the thought of Marlowe getting hurt or killed taking him to a bad place. "You work for the Club," he started in a softer tone, his hands pressed together as if in prayer in front of his face. "When I give you an order, I expect it to be obeyed. Understood?" He asked quietly and watched the surprised look on Marlowe's face darken as she crossed her arms with a heavy sigh, finally nodding in reluctant agreement.

"I don't mean to interrupt," Gemma said as she walked into the small group surrounding Marlowe, the gun she carried in her handbag for protection in her hand. "But this shit just blew up the 'hood. Officer Friendly and his crew are bound to roll up in here any minute now."

"Your Mom's right," Happy advised. "We need to get this asshole and that bag o' heads the fuck outta here. Like _now_."

"You should get Jimmy out of here, too," Marlowe added. "You don't want law enforcement stumbling on the Prospect sporting a fresh gunshot wound either. He'll know it didn't happen here and he's gonna ask questions."

Opie eyed his President. "She's right, Jax. We gotta get Jimmy out of here and fast."

Jax turned to Filthy Phil and Rat Boy. "Go get him, now." Turning to his mother, he said, "Ma, take the Prospect home with you for safekeeping. Doc, go with her and stay put until I send someone to pick you up. And take your med kit. I don't want it found in the Clubhouse when the Sheriff puts us on lock down while he investigates. Hap, grab the cargo van and get that Lobos piece of shit off the lot. The heads, too." Jax turned to face the rest of his brothers. "Everyone else, unload all your weapons and give them to Tigger and Koz to take to the warehouse. You know the drill. Move it!"

* * *

Following Jax's orders—and escorted by several Prospects on bikes—Gemma and Marlowe left the lot in Gemma's SUV carrying the wounded Tacoma Prospect to the Morrow home for safekeeping. With the Prospect settled comfortably in the guest bedroom with V-Lin while Filthy Phil and Rat Boy were on guard duty outside, the two women were taking a moment to wind down after the extraordinary events of that afternoon.

"Heads in a fuckin' bag," Gemma fumed as she sipped at a large mug of coffee. "I feel like I'm living in fuckin' Juarez."

"Yeah, and calling this town Charming is a little deceiving, don't you think? Because the shit that happens here is anything but," Marlowe replied candidly. "It's a good thing I don't scare easy."

"Or at all." The SAMCRO matriarch grinned slyly over the rim of her mug. "You seemed to handle your shit well enough," she said with some admiration. Watching as Marlowe shrugged noncommittally, Gemma rolled her eyes. "Don't play humble pie with me, sweetheart. I saw what you did today and I heard _why_ you did it. Either you've got a serious set of stones, or that was some pretty stupid crazy commando shit."

"Maybe it was a little of both," Marlowe admitted as she stared into Gemma's eyes. "There are certain sights and sounds that leave a permanent mark on your soul and you'd do _anything_ to never experience them again. I honestly don't think I could have obeyed the Pres' command to stay put even if I wanted to," she said honestly. "In the Navy, we lived on high alert for so long that no one ever questioned my judgment. They knew those wasted moments could mean the difference between reacting smart and fast or acting stupid and ending up dead."

"I get that," Gemma replied with a slow nod. "You stick around long enough, you'll see how similar war and life in a motorcycle club can be sometimes," she said and Marlowe chuckled.

"I'd say I saw that for myself today," she said good-naturedly.

Gemma focused her dark brown eyes on Marlowe speculatively. "You must have questions and concerns about what happened today," she pressed. "At the very least, you must be curious."

Marlowe tilted her head towards the older woman. The jury was still out when it came to her figuring out Gemma Teller-Morrow. As Jax had pointed out, his mother definitely had layers and it was clear that she was a tough bitch as Marlowe had not been the only woman on the lot wielding a gun when shit went sideways earlier. She wasn't sure, however, whether the old lady was just blowing smoke up her ass or testing her to see where her loyalties lay.

In any event, Marlowe wasn't about to overstep her boundaries by grilling the SAMCRO Queen. "Not really," she bluffed and managed to keep her poker face on straight when Gemma gave her a look that screamed BULLSHIT! "I have enough sense to know that what happened today is above my pay grade and that I don't get paid to be curious; I get paid to fix shit."

"True enough and judging by the Prospect crashing in my guest room, it looks like you've earned every penny," Gemma agreed. "And even though Jax doesn't pay you to risk your life, Doc, I'm sure he appreciates it all the same. So do I," she said simply.

Marlowe chuckled. "I'm not so sure about that. Did you miss hearing the Pres rip me a new one?"

Gemma shrugged her shoulders. "When it comes to women, my son's natural protective instincts tend to kick in. You just caught him off guard, running towards what you thought was a threat in order to protect the Club from it. Trust me, Jax saw what you're capable of today and he appreciates it."

"Well, the one thing I do know for sure after today's old school shoot out is that if I'm going to work for the Club, I need my own fuckin' gun," Marlowe said emphatically and watched as the Club matriarch wrinkled her brow in confusion.

"Now, wait a minute, I know I saw you brandishing a pretty impressive piece earlier," Gemma said.

"That shiny Glock belongs to Jax," Marlowe responded. "He gave it to me when the shooting started."

_After he used his body as a shield to protect me._

Marlowe wasn't sure what to make of that. It had been the first time that someone other than a Marine had risked his life for her. The only man to ever care enough to do something like that for her had been Happy. But with a smirk, Marlowe told herself to stop romanticizing shit. After all, she had a skill set that was proving to be a valuable asset for the Club. The Pres had just been protecting his investment, nothing more or less, which was why Marlowe needed to secure a means of protecting herself so she wouldn't have to rely on a sexy blond outlaw to do it for her.

"Well, then I think we need to take care of that shit ourselves right now," Gemma put down her mug. "I'll be back in a minute."

Draining her mug dry, Marlowe went into the kitchen to get a refill. Returning to the dining room, her eyes widened in confusion as the old lady returned with what appeared to be two large hatboxes in her arms.

"Uh," she said hesitantly as Gemma came to a stop next to her and placed the two boxes on the table in front of them. "What's in those hat boxes?"

Gemma grinned sardonically. "Not hats," she quipped as she quickly removed the lids and brushed aside several silk scarves in order for Marlowe to inspect the contents.

"Well, damn, woman," she exclaimed with admiration. "This is a serious arsenal you have here."

Gemma grinned. "You like?"

"Hell's yeah!" Marlowe said enthusiastically, picking up a Smith and Wesson .38 Special. "This is a tight little bitch," she marveled as she turned the gun over in her hand only to put it down when she spotted another. "Oooh, shit, look at this one," she said excitedly as she picked up a nickel-plated Colt 1911. "This will leave a fuckin' hole the size of a baseball in a man."

It took a lot for Gemma to hold back her laughter as Marlowe continued to ooh and aah over her collection. "You do realize that you're cheesing over my guns like they were 75% off Jimmy Choos."

"Jimmy who?" Marlowe asked distantly as she picked up and aimed a silver Beretta 9mm at a picture on the far wall, grinning as she imagined taking a potshot of Jax Teller's old lady.

"Okay," Gemma put up a hand. "I knew you were fashioned-challenged, the way you dress being a dead giveaway, but damn, _really_?" she exclaimed.

"Not that I'm claiming I know what a 'Jimmy Choo' is, but in my line of work, I didn't have much of a need for high heels and designer clothes," Marlowe replied as she grabbed one of the scarves to polish the Beretta.

"I understand that, but what about in your social life? After all, all work and no play," Gemma said, leaving the rest of the old saying unspoken.

"Lack of designer duds has never been an issue in that department. I mean, I'm not bragging, but the men I've been attracted to in the past had simple tastes. They were uncomplicated. If I wanted some action, all I had to do was get naked," Marlowe explained candidly. Prompted by the look of surprised humor on Gemma's face, she added, "Just sayin'."

"I've got news for you, sweetheart. Most men are uncomplicated like that," Gemma smirked. "We girls don't dress to impress _them_. That would be a wasted effort. We do it to impress _each other_."

Marlowe put the gun down and looked Gemma straight in the eye. "I guess we're different in that regard. What you see is what you get with me. I try to impress in other ways that makes a difference in someone's life. I guess that's why a military career appealed to me."

Gemma leaned against the table as Marlowe went back to examining the guns, not taking offense to what the young woman had just said. Marlowe Guthrie was blunt and spoke her mind and Gemma liked that. "Clay tells me you spent a decade serving your country. That's a long time. Why not just stick it out and retire after twenty?"

Marlowe fiddled around with a Browning 9mm with Mother of Pearl grips before putting it down with an inward sigh. Although Marlowe knew she had nothing to be ashamed of, she still felt the need to keep the reasons behind her temporary leave to herself. Having done her time for her unwitting involvement in the cover up of her base commander's death, Marlowe felt that the Navy was using her diagnosis of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder as a way of pushing her out. It had been almost two years since she had been put on temporary disability and with her chances of being recalled into active duty looking slimmer and slimmer each day, the next step was an inevitable medical discharge.

Feeling that she had already shared enough of her hard luck past with Happy and Jax, Marlowe gave the SAMCRO Queen a redacted version of her time serving in the Navy with the Marines. Marlowe figured that hearing a few gruesome battlefield stories would be enough to satisfy the old lady's curiosity, but she figured wrong. Sensing there was more to Hospital Corpsman Guthrie than she was willing to share, Gemma put on another pot of coffee before putting the squeeze on the Club's medic for her full story.

"You know," Marlowe said wryly, having managed to down play her reason for being on disability as battle fatigue, "you may have missed your calling as a professional interrogator. You just don't let up on shit, do you?"

"When you live this life, knowing how to extract information is just a part of the skill set required," Gemma replied. Picking up a pack of smokes, she lit one up and offered Marlowe one, who declined. "Sounds like you're being dealt a bad hand by Uncle Sam."

Marlowe shrugged her shoulders. "I'll survive."

"You sure about that? By falling into some crazy shit with a bunch of outlaw bikers?"

"Hey, at least I can't complain about ever being bored." The two women laughed companionably.

They sat in comfortable silence for a while before Gemma spoke up once again. "For those lucky enough to earn themselves a patch, SAMCRO is a brotherhood. These men— _brothers_ —will protect and die for one another. It's a family and whether outsiders understand that or not doesn't really matter because family is all that really matters in our world."

"What about the old ladies?" Marlowe asked. "Where do they fit in, in this world?"

"We have our place too, but it ain't for weak bitches. Sometimes you have to be as tough as a patch without all the glory. Some old ladies can't cut it. I know. This has been my life for over thirty years. You, however, have what it takes to live this life."

"I'm not an old lady, Gemma," Marlowe countered.

"No, you're something better. In case you haven't noticed, women fall into one of two categories around here, except you. You're in a position all your own with SAMCRO. I don't know how long you plan on staying, but that sense of belonging and acceptance you feel when you're around the Club, you're the only woman it's ever been offered to, and you earned it, Doc. You earned it out there in Afghanistan and you've earned it here with the boys, but there aren't too many other places out there where a woman like you will find herself as a part of a brotherhood again. Remember that," Gemma advised with a knowing look in her eyes. "Now, back to the business at hand. Pick one of these bad boys for yourself."

* * *

Pulling into the Morrow's driveway, Jax parked his bike and sighed as he placed his helmet on the handlebars. The sun had long since set and he was feeling drained after all the shit that had rained down on him all day long.

The Club had moved quickly after the attack to cover their tracks before the Sanwa Sheriffs had shown up. SAMCRO had been doing its best to stay off Eli Roosevelt's radar, but the Sheriffs Department had been riding the Club's ass ever since they got out of Stockton. With SAMCRO as the prime suspects in the ROC massacre discovered on the Charming Heights site, the new lawman had shown very little patience for the Club. Nonetheless, the MC had managed to continue running their operations after tweaking the way they conducted business, frustrating Roosevelt's investigation.

Unfortunately, being the target of a middle-of-the-day drive-by had done little to endear the Sons to the Lieutenant. With this latest incident leading the pigs right to their front door, Jax had been sure that Roosevelt and his deputies would take up permanent residence up and inside the Club's collective ass and he had been right.

Roosevelt had shown up with his goon squad and immediately put the T-M compound under lockdown for the afternoon and well into the evening as they "investigated" the crime scene. With no leads, no injuries, and no one in the mood to volunteer information that would help with the "investigation", Jax knew that all the show of police force amounted to was a fishing expedition, giving Roosevelt the opportunity to snoop around the Clubhouse and stir shit up.

As a result, Jax had been forced to stay on the lot the entire day, keeping a close eye on Roosevelt, unwilling to give the Sheriffs an opening to exploit. When the Lieutenant finally decided to call it a day and pull his men off the investigation, Jax had Tig and Juice sweep the Clubhouse and garage thoroughly, looking for electronic bugs and other tracking and listening devices before the Club could talk freely in the Chapel.

A number of the hardier hang-arounds and croweaters had stuck around, volunteering to clean up the Clubhouse and to board up the broken windows until they could be replaced as Jax led a brief meeting to discuss their next steps. Specifically, setting up a meet with Romeo and Alvarez for the following day, so it had been rather late when Jax finally pulled out of the lot to head to his mother's.

Looking up as he headed up the walk, Jax watched as a huge shadow pulled away from the darkened recess by the front door. "Hi, sir," Filthy Phil said quietly.

Jax grinned at the still-too-fuckin'-polite Prospect. "Everything secure?"

Phil nodded. "V-Lin is 'round back and Rat Boy is inside on Gemma, Doc and Jimmy. It's been quiet, except," he grinned, "not really. Doc and your mom seem to be having a pretty good time by the sound of it."

Jax raised an eyebrow, somewhat surprised. "Thanks, Phil," he said, thumping the large Prospect heartily on the shoulder of his kutte. Reaching for the door knob, Jax let himself inside.

Jax always felt a measure of comfort whenever he entered his mother's home. Unlike his own place, especially as of late, the family home he spent his teenage years in had always felt warm and welcoming. Gemma had always made a great effort in making sure that it was a haven for him and his stepfather to escape to at the end of the day.

As he rounded the corner of the foyer into the living room, he could hear the lighthearted laughter of the two women and grinned. _Marlowe must have kissed the Blarney Stone if she can get Gemma to chill the fuck out_.

"Sounds like you two are doing a'ight," he said as he swaggered into the dining room.

Sitting at the table, the remains of dinner in front of them, Gemma and Marlowe looked up at the SAMCRO President. "Oh, so you didn't actually forget about us after all," his mother said sardonically.

"Never, Ma," Jax replied as he bent down to kiss her loudly on the cheek, before nodding at Marlowe.

Gemma tugged on his kutte. "How did everything go?"

"We're clear for the moment. The Sheriffs didn't find anything of interest, other than shattered windows and a shit load of bullet holes. How's the Prospect?"

"He's good. Sleeping comfortably," Gemma replied. "You hungry, baby?"

"Yeah, but I'll get something at home later, Ma." He looked at Marlowe. "I promised I'd send someone to pick you up."

"I sure wasn't expecting the top brass though," Marlowe drawled with a raised eyebrow.

"I'm all about the service, darlin'," he said with a wink and a grin.

Gemma didn't need her motherly instinct to sense the mutual admiration oozing out of their eyeballs as the pair interacted with each other. It was actually quite a sight to witness, her pussy-chasing heart-breaker of a son getting as good as he put out from the very pretty, but undoubtedly complicated former Navy medic. After the Sunday dinner debacle a few weeks ago, Gemma had gone out of her way to convince Tara that Marlowe was no threat to her. But watching them together now, their body language speaking volumes, Gemma wasn't so sure how true that was.

After spending most of the day with the young woman, Gemma found herself liking Marlowe a lot. What the girl lacked in fashion sense she sure made up by being a whole lotta ballsy and just a touch crazy. But Gemma's loyalty had always belonged to Jax first and, therefore, by extension to Tara, so she moved quickly to douse the fire she could already see burning in her son's eyes.

"So, have you downloaded to Tara yet?" Gemma asked and watched as her son focused narrowed eyes on her.

"No," Jax replied succinctly. "She was in surgery all day so there was no need to stir shit up for her. I had Kozik down at St. Thomas watching over her and he escorted her home. I can fill her in later." Which Jax was looking forward to doing as much as having a root canal without anesthesia. With another shit storm probably brewing for the Club, this latest situation would only work to distance them further.

Marlowe sat at the dining room table, her legs and arms crossed as she watched Jax speak. Focused on the fact that he had dropped by to personally take _her_ back to the Clubhouse while someone else had escorted his old lady home from work, she gnawed at her bottom to keep herself from beaming.

Turning to address Marlowe, Jax's eyes landed on the plump lip snagged between her teeth. Licking his suddenly-dry lips, Jax temporarily shelved the thought of that beautiful mouth wrapped around his dick as he realized Gemma was still in the room. "You think Jimmy's stable enough to travel tomorrow?"

Marlowe nodded. "He's doing great, actually. No fever or signs of infection. Some pain, but he's handling it in stride."

"Good. I want him out of Charming as soon as possible and the Tacoma boys are ready to pull out first thing in the morning," he said. "I better get you back to the Clubhouse."

"You let me know if you need anything, baby," his mother said as Marlowe stood up. Gemma watched with great interest as Jax grabbed Doc's med kit and slung it from his shoulder, his hand resting intimately on the small of Marlowe's back as he led her towards the front door.

"Sure thing, Ma."

* * *

 _Damn, this feels so good_.

With her arms wrapped tightly around his waist, Marlowe found herself tucking her head into Jax's back. Despite the fact that it was June, there was a chill in the night air that whistled through the couple as they tore down the street heading for the lot.

Having left her car behind in the mad dash to get off the lot before the good Sheriff made his appearance, Marlowe hadn't given a second thought as to how she was getting back to the Clubhouse. After all, Jax had promised to send someone to pick her up and she had assumed whoever that was would show up in the T-M tow truck. However, exiting Gemma's house and seeing Jax's ride parked in the driveway, the ex-Corpsman had to do her best to hold back what could only be described as a girly squeal of excitement when she realized that she had no choice but to ride bitch with the outlaw biker.

Jax had handed her his helmet and without a word, Marlowe had put it on. Waiting for him to get on his bike, she gamely settled herself behind the well-muscled man, pressing her legs against his outer thighs, feeling a core of heat in the pit of her stomach.

 _Liar_ , she teasingly chastised herself, knowing that the heat she was feeling was emanating from farther south than the pit of her stomach.

Leaning into him as he roared off, Marlowe lost herself in the experience of the freedom of the road. It hadn't been her first time on a bike; she had ridden many times with Happy, but Happy was her brother.

Jax wasn't, and it was proving to be a totally different experience.

The low rumble of the finely-tuned engine seemed to match the thudding of her own heart. Snuggled closely to the SAMCRO Pres, Marlowe could faintly hear Jax's heartbeat through his kutte. The sound was so comforting and sweet that Marlowe could see herself wrapped in his arms against his naked chest as his beating heart lulled her to sleep.

But before she knew it, they were roaring into the lot and Jax was backing up into his parking spot.

"You a'ight, Doc?" he asked quietly.

 _Shit_ , she thought, realizing that she was still clinging to him for some time after he had parked and cut the engine. Marlowe felt her face flush hotly and prayed that the lighting bouncing off the buildings wasn't bright enough for her embarrassment to be seen.

Quickly releasing her hold on him, Marlowe swung her long leg over the seat. "Sorry," she said quietly. "It's been a long day. Guess I nearly fell asleep on you."

Jax watched her intently as she removed his helmet and gave her head a quick shake to loosen her caramel curls as she put it on the handlebars. "No problem, Doc. It _has_ been one hell of a day," he paused and climbed off his bike. "You were really good today, despite not following orders."

Marlowe rolled her eyes. "You gonna keep harping on that shit?" she asked warily.

"Only if you keep doing it," he said as he stood facing her.

"I just wanted to help, Pres. Besides, you can't just give a Vet a piece and expect her to sit on her ass," she offered cheekily.

"I didn't get that memo," Jax smiled in return. Suddenly serious, his eyes bore into hers. "I appreciate what you did, but you getting hurt would have upset Hap big time," he said quietly. "Me too."

"Is that why you threw yourself on top of me?" she asked, her mouth running away from her brain.

Jax chuckled, running his hand over the hair on his chin. "It's _one_ of the reasons."

"Oh? And here I thought it was part of the service you were talking about earlier," Marlowe teased.

"It's definitely that too, darlin'," he smiled. "Which reminds me, come on," he grabbed her hand and tugged her towards the Clubhouse. Hesitating for only a moment, Marlowe followed, her hand still in Jax's firm grip.

* * *

Walking through the Clubhouse and towards the kitchen, Marlowe wondered what Jax was up to. But continuing down the corridor, he turned the corner at JT's bike and she felt a ball of nervous anticipation form in her belly as he led her straight to his room.

 _Fuck, this is not good_ , Marlowe counseled herself. A roomful of patches had seen them heading to the dorms, most of them doing very little to hide their surprise at the fact that Jax was holding her hand. Yet the pull she felt towards him rendered her incapable of putting a halt to whatever he was up to as she continued following him down the hall.

"Uh, look," Marlowe started, addressing the Reaper on the back of his kutte as they came to a stop outside his door. "I think I'm just gonna turn in now—"

"Not yet, Doc. I have something I wanna give you," Jax said evenly, tossing a sexy smirk at her over his shoulder as he dug his keys out. Unlocking the door, he threw it open. "C'mon in."

 _Said the spider to the fly_ , Marlowe thought with an inkling of trepidation even as she crossed the threshold.

Turning on the light, Jax closed the door behind them. "Put this down," he said, relieving her of the med kit backpack she carried and dropped it on his unmade bed. "I got something for you," Jax said as he headed over to a chest of drawers.

"What's that?" Marlowe asked cautiously, looking around the large room with an en suite bathroom. Aside from the messy bed, the room was tidy and organized.

"Something no sexy woman should be without," Jax leered at her before turning away.

_What? Your dick? Damn, if he pulls out a box of rubbers, I'm so totally done._

Instead, pulling out what he had been looking for from one of the drawers, Marlowe's mouth nearly dropped opened as he walked towards her with an open wooden case in his hand. The Beretta PX4 Storm Compact was lying on a bed of black suede and it was a stunner. With her fingers itching to pick it up, Marlowe crossed her arms over her chest as she examined the piece.

"She's a real beauty," Marlowe muttered under her breath.

"Yeah. The gun's not too bad either," Jax agreed with a cheeky smile as Marlowe's gaze snapped up to meet his. "I think it's a good size for you. Go ahead, try it out," he said as he pulled it out of the box.

Marlowe took the gun in hand and agreed. It was a perfect fit, not too heavy and it had a comfortable, natural-feeling grip. "This is really sweet," she said, her gray eyes enthusiastic.

"Clay thought so when he gave it to me," Jax said and watched her eyes widen with surprise. "It was his gift to me when I patched in."

"It's a serious piece of firepower," she said stroking the steel.

"I love it. I still use it on occasion, but lately I've been sticking with my Glock," Jax explained. "It'd be a shame keeping it in a box when our Doc is walking around unprotected, so—"

"Jax, this is too special," Marlowe interrupted. "I can't borrow this."

"Hey, if you're not gonna let me give you what I _really_ want," Jax said saucily. "Then I think it's only fair that you take this from me."

Marlowe laughed softly, turning the Beretta over and over in her hand. "Wow, I guess it's true about the apple not falling far from the tree," she said. At Jax's confused look, Marlowe placed the gun down on the bed and reached into her med kit, pulling out Gemma's Beretta. "It seems your mom felt I needed protection too," she said with a grin. "She has an amazing little arsenal there."

"And in a fuckin' hat box, too," Jax shook his head wryly. "So," he drawled, "does that mean you don't want _my_ gun?"

"Well, if you really want to me to have it, who am I to say no to the SAMCRO Pres?" she said lightly, suddenly inhaling a deep breath as Jax stepped into her personal space.

 _Fuck it_ , he thought with a little excitement. _It's been a long damn day and I need this shit._

"Then stop saying no, Doc," he said huskily, and bending ever so slightly covered her lips with his own.

Marlowe tried willing herself to turn away, but found that she simply couldn't because she didn't want to. Jax's lips were soft yet firm as he nibbled the underside of her full bottom lip. Before Marlowe could think to stop herself, she let her lips part slightly, giving him the go-ahead to slide his tongue inside. Letting out a little breathy groan of desire, Marlowe's arms crept up and around his neck, her hands burying themselves in his golden hair. Jax smiled triumphantly against her lips and pulled her flush against his body. Marlowe was dangerously close to melting into a puddle on the floor as she felt the beginnings of an erection in his pants in response to holding her so close.

"Mmmm," Jax moaned, his mouth still brushing against her lips. "Just as sweet as I imagined."

"Jax—" Marlowe started, but he stopped her from protesting with another kiss, this one stealing the breath from her lungs. Now that he had her, Jax was determined not to let her go. With Marlowe seemingly giving up and giving in by responding hungrily to his kiss, Jax didn't hear someone knocking on his door.

"Yo, Pres," Happy said as he pushed open the door. "What the fuck?!" he exclaimed with grim surprise as a startled Marlowe tried to pull out of Jax's tight embrace to no avail.

"What?" Jax replied, his blue eyes never leaving his SAA's hardened stare, daring him to say something about what he was seeing.

"Your old lady's on the bar phone and she sounds way beyond pissed," he said, a dangerous smile twisting his mouth into a grimace. "You might want to see about that shit."

 _Instead of treating Marley like some croweater_ , Happy thought angrily.

"A'ight," Jax drawled before reluctantly releasing his prisoner. "We'll talk later," he directed at Marlowe, squeezing her hand gently before heading out the door.

Taking a deep breath, Marlowe quickly grabbed her med kit from the bed after shoving both guns inside and turned to leave. Instead, she got a face full of a seething Happy as he slammed the door shut.

"We're talking right NOW!"


	25. Chapter 25

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sons of Anarchy. I do, however, own Marlowe and any other OCs that appear in the 2 Sons Universe.**

* * *

_**Friday, June 4, 2010** _

The sun was bright in the sky when the top tier officers of the Sons of Anarchy and the Mayans Motorcycle Club pulled into an abandoned gas station outside Lodi for their meet with Galindo Cartel representatives. Flanked by his VP and SAA, Jax Teller was standing, his arms crossed over his chest, with Marcus Alvarez and his lieutenants, listening with skepticism to the Cartel's Strategic Forces Specialist.

Romero "Romeo" Parada had a quiet, yet powerful presence about him. In his early 60's, the former Mexican Special Forces commander had been approached after retirement by José Galindo himself, who offered him a great deal of money to put his special services skills to use in his organization. Exploiting his connections within the Army, Romeo had hired many ex-military commandos, building up an impressive semi-militarized organization for Galindo in order to protect the Cartel's interests in Mexico and to assist in Galindo's quest to take over rival Lobos Sonora's territory. With his right-hand man Luis Torres, a former soldier under Romeo's command, he was determined to earn the huge amount of money he was being paid by the Cartel to acquire all of its objectives.

But with the delivery of a bag of heads to the front door of Charming's one and only outlaw MC, Romeo was being pressed to make good on his promises for a problem-free association between the Sons, the Mayans and the Cartel.

Romeo took a good hard look at the newly-appointed President of the Sons. Having brokered the deal with Clay Morrow, it had been something of an alarming surprise to Romeo that the players had been switched so early in their association with the Club. He had to admit that the young man seemed capable enough with two successful runs under his belt in the last month. Present circumstances, however, would serve to prove just how good the younger man was. It was imperative for Romeo to know whether or not Teller had what it took as a leader to weather the shit that was now coming his way. If he didn't, it could put their association at risk.

And that was the one thing Romeo would not accept.

"I know it's been less than twenty-four hours, Romeo," Jax started quietly, "but have you been able to find anything out?"

"We need to know what's happening, ese," Marcus said as he puffed on a Cuban cigar. "I got three dead patches and a missing truck. I thought you said the Lobos wouldn't operate this far North."

"I may have been wrong about that shit," Romeo admitted in a raspy voice. "We're getting word that the Lobos are trying to bring the fight up here. Apparently, they've learned about our new business arrangement and are trying to cause problems between us."

"Seems like mission accomplished," Jax replied, his anger evident. "The Lobos murdered SAMTAZ's President, showing that they've got the reach to hurt us. They stormed our garage and shot our Clubhouse to hell, putting us on the Sanwa Sheriff's fuckin' radar. I can't let this shit go unanswered."

"Neither can I, Romeo," Alvarez agreed. "It has to be stopped before any more of my people get hurt and our relationship with the Cartel is exposed to local law enforcement. I got the local cops on my payroll, but if the Lobos brings the fight to Oak-Town and this shit escalates, we're _all_ at risk."

"Not to mention the fact that we have the little matter of the Irish," Jax continued. "You pushed for this meet despite my belief that we should wait at least another month. Two successful runs wasn't enough for the Kings to feel confident about extending the privilege to the Cartel of buying from their stock of higher caliber merch. We had a hard time convincing them to send down the sample hardware for you to check out. The Irish have concerns. They want to make money, but they sure as shit don't want the noise associated with the Cartel. This attack is _not_ going to help your situation."

"Look, I'm sorry about your man, and yours too," Romeo said nodding to Alvarez, "but shit like this is the cost of doing the business we do. As for the Irish, I am sure when we meet, we'll be able to smooth shit over."

Jax shrugged his shoulders. "This may be a business to you, but I have a duty to protect my brothers. You're ex-military, _jefe_ , so I think you can understand that, right? I can't just let this shit go." While his tone was respectful, it was clearly evident to Romeo that the SAMCRO President would not be easily appeased, or manipulated.

"Then you should be happy to know that we have some Intel, and it looks like its legit," the former Commander replied. "Tell them, Luis."

Romeo's second-in-command took up the ball. "I interrogated the POS you were able to nab during the attack. It seems that the Lobos are setting up shop in Northern Cali, in Chico to be specific."

"Chico?" Happy said as he eyed his President, noting Jax's concern before he continued speaking. "That's a little too close for comfort. Are you sure the Lobos are operating out of that area?" He watched as Luis grinned sardonically.

"I used sodium pentothal on their soldier. He held nothing back. We're still working to get additional confirmation through our contacts in the area, but it makes sense," Luis replied. "The Lobos like to keep out of the way. Staying undercover in populated towns and cities is not how they operate. They like a lower profile and use guerilla warfare tactics." Pulling out a map of California, Luis spread it out on the hood of their SUV and, as the men crowded around, pointed to some highlighted areas on the map.

"Chico sits on the Sacramento Valley floor, not too far away from the foothills of Cascades here," Luis pointed. "We believe that this is where their base is. The mountain ranges and forestry is familiar territory for them and provides good cover. Close enough to civilization to secure food rations and supplies, but far enough that the locals don't even know they're there. Now, getting in won't be easy, but it'll be worth it. Wiping out that nest will send a huge message to the Lobos to stay the fuck out of NorCal."

"I assume you want to take part in the retaliation?" Romeo asked, already knowing the answer.

"Most definitely," Jax replied and Alvarez nodded his agreement.

"Then you're in," Romeo promised.

"Good," Luis agreed. "We have more men coming, but we will need as many as possible. We don't have exact numbers as to how many Lobos we'll be dealing with, so the more manpower, the better," the former soldier grinned. "With Chico at least a couple hours away from your turf in Oakland and an hour from Charming, if shit gets loud, it won't back-track to you. The Mayans and the Sons will be the last on the long list of usual suspects when we blow shit up out there. We clean this up and get back to business," he concluded.

"Which is why we are all here," Romeo smiled. "That's why we need to get this meeting on board with the Irish sooner rather than later. We need the new firepower to bring this fight to the Lobos' front yard, keeping them out of Galindo territory. We get it, and the Lobos will be too busy trying to stay alive and protecting their own than to try and roust the Mayans and Sons again."

"I hope you're right, Romeo," Jax stated with a shake of his head. "I need to be able to go back to my Club and tell them that we will get payback for what they did to my Tucson Pres and our Clubhouse, putting this shit to rest for all of us. But what happened yesterday didn't happen in a vacuum. The Irish are gonna hear about it from their stateside contacts. We need to handle retaliation under the radar or they won't open their arsenal up to the Cartel in spite of the big bag of cash your organization is offering in return. The Irish _hate_ messy."

"Then we won't give them messy. Shit will get handled real quiet-like and put to bed," Romeo said forcefully as he turned to get into the driver's seat of his truck. "We'll have confirmation on the location in the next day or two. Keep your people on high alert and ready to go."

* * *

_**Sunday, June 6, 2010** _

Marlowe knew she had years of extensive training and the experience of serving three tours to thank for the fact that she wasn't, at this moment, shitting herself. Lo and behold, she was currently guiding her car behind two cargo vans filled with Sons in plainclothes as they made their way into what would certainly be enemy territory.

Cutting her eyes to the left, Marlowe watched the impassive stare of her brother as he sat in the passenger seat, sans his beloved kutte, unable to tell if he was pissed at her or not.

_If he is, he needs to get over that shit._

Getting caught by Happy red-handed with her hand in the cookie jar—the latest cookie jar being a hot clinch with the SAMCRO President—had not been one of her more stellar moments. In fact, it had felt too much like history repeating itself. Marlowe's grip tightened on the steering wheel as she remembered the time Happy had shown up in Bakersfield unannounced—as usual—and walked in on her and the pretty blond boy she had brought home after school when she knew Tía would be at work.

Unfortunately, fifteen year old Marlowe had been so heavily engrossed in making out as she let Brandon Westmore get to second base that she hadn't heard the front door open. Suddenly, her hands were no longer fisted in thick curly hair as Brandon, barely 18, was plucked out of her arms and thrown head first out the fuckin' door. Never one to embarrass easily, Marlowe had been more pissed by the intrusion than anything and the explosive argument between her and Happy could be heard all the way down the block. Needless to say, Marlowe never got to see the pretty boy again.

What made this particular situation worse, however, was the fact that Marlowe had as good as told Happy that _she_ had made the decision to stay away from Jax. He had an old lady and a son and that wasn't her thing, blah, blah, blah. Long story short, after getting busted thoroughly enjoying the Pres' "tongue lashing", she knew she was fuckin' weak and pathetic. Worse yet, Happy had to be the one to witness her succumbing to her weakness and that really burned her ass. Even more humiliating, instead of ripping her a new one after Jax had left her alone to deal with his SAA, the asshole had actually shown some concern for her and her reputation.

" _I thought you said that shit happening between you and Jax was off the table, Marley."_

_Marlowe ran her hand through her hair, making it wilder still after Jax had thoroughly disheveled it. "I know what I said, Hap. I don't need you riding my ass. It takes two you know—"_

" _I know, and I will handle the Pres later," Happy said in a growl._

" _Oh, no you won't," she said irritably. "What are you gonna do, meathead? Challenge him to a duel to defend my honor or just ask him to step into the ring with you?"_

_The ring part's actually not a bad idea_ _, Happy thought but didn't say aloud. "What I say to Jax doesn't concern you," he started but Marlowe interrupted._

" _Excuse me, it was my throat he was massaging with his tongue, so I think it has_ _everything_ _to do with me and nothing to do with you."_

_It was her brother's next words that had her reining in her temper. "You're my family, little girl. If Jax has an itch he needs scratching, there's plenty of pussy on the lot he can hit without jumping into yours. He wants to step out on his old lady, shit, I ain't got a problem with that, but he's not gonna use you as his personal cum dumpster. Not my little sister," he retorted as she looked at him with wide eyes. "Now get your shit and go to your dorm. And don't worry, I won't damage his pretty face," Happy tossed over his shoulder as he opened the door, "too much," he murmured to himself as he closed the door behind him._

Gathering her shit, Marlowe had retreated to her dorm for another sleepless night. This time, however, her lack of sleep had nothing to do with PTSD and _everything_ to do with a certain sexy blond biker.

Over the next two days, things had been quiet around the lot. While hang-arounds and Prospects spent time repairing the Clubhouse, Marlowe did her best to stay out of sight, spending most of her time visiting Tía. Running into the SAMCRO President once or twice, he didn't look any worse for wear, but it was obvious he was preoccupied with trying to figure out who was behind the attack while keeping the MC out of Lieutenant Roosevelt's crosshairs.

But on Saturday night, Marlowe had been summoned to the Chapel in her capacity as the Club doc. It was the first time she would exchange actual words with Jax since their encounter in his dorm and what he had to say sent a tremor of fear through her which she quickly smothered.

The Sons, along with another MC, were going on a covert operation and as the Club's medic, she was going along for the ride.

Despite her initial quiver of fear, Marlowe had taken it in stride. Not asking the why of the mission—after all, a bag of heads and a shot up Clubhouse was a pretty big fuckin' clue that retaliation was on the table—she figured that in terms of the flow of information, she was on a "need-to-know" basis. The only question she asked was in regard of what she could expect by way of injuries, and then asked to be dismissed by Jax so that she could go and make preparations.

Now as she followed behind the two vans with Happy riding shot gun and Tig and Kozik in the back seat, Marlowe could only hope that she was prepared enough to take care of the men that, in such a short period of time, she had grown so close to.

* * *

Crouched in the underbrush between Happy and Jax, and not for the first time, Marlowe wondered just what the fuck she had gotten herself into. She was still reeling a little from the sight of the three bodies splayed out in front of the dilapidated trailer that sat at the bottom edge of what was undoubtedly the enemy base camp.

The sunrise had seen the convoy of Sons—joined by other vans that, according to Kozik, contained members of the Mayans MC—driving through the town of Chico. Exiting to its outskirts, they headed to the location of the base camp where the crew responsible for the attack on the SAMCRO Clubhouse had set up house. Seeing the bodies of the unsuspecting men that had been enjoying a spirited game of poker before ending up dead, it suddenly became very clear to Marlowe that it _had_ indeed been a long time since she had seen this kind of action and had to sternly remind herself to keep her shit together.

Not knowing much of anything, Marlowe had been ordered to stay stationed in one of the cargo vans while the rest of the group slowly advanced on the first line of defense for the Lobos Sonora camp. Hearing the gunfire, Marlowe's facial expression did not betray her concern for the Sons or for two patches in particular. Instead, when minutes later Tig returned to the van and motioned her to follow him, she hefted her medic kit on her back, only briefly allowing her eyes to take in the first casualties from the initial assault before following Tig into the trees.

There was no doubt in her mind now that there was a war being conducted on American soil, and she was pretty damn sure that her participation in it wouldn't win her any medals. As a matter of fact, all she could really hope for was that they would survive the shit fest in one piece and stay ahead of law enforcement.

Within a few minutes, she found herself snuggled in between Jax and her brother. She could tell by Hap's expression that he wasn't at all keen on her being there. That was nothing new, however, as he had already voiced his disapproval on her inclusion on today's events the night before, so she focused her attention instead on his President.

"I want you close, Marley," Jax said quietly as he braced the FN-67 in his arms. "It's more than likely that we'll suffer some casualties and I want you in a position to treat them ASAP."

 _But more important, I need you close so I know that you're not alone and unprotected_ , the outlaw thought to himself. Leaving her behind in the cargo van for someone to sneak up on had not been a smart play.

"Hap, you stick close to her," Jax ordered.

"I should be with you," Happy whisper-argued, his feelings of conflict plain on his face, his strong desire to protect his Pres at war with his need to look after his sister.

"I can handle my shit," Jax replied brusquely. "Stick with Marlowe."

Just then, Romeo, leading a group of men, shouted orders. "Jax, take your group to the left with Luis. Alvarez, take your guys to the right to circle around and cut off their exit. My men will take point and advance up the middle."

Jax nodded. "Juice," he called. "Watch Clay's back," he ordered as the two men followed after Romeo.

"You know it, brother," the Intel Officer replied quickly.

"Let's do this shite, brutha," Chibs said.

Leaving Happy and Marlowe behind, Jax and Chibs followed after Luis to take flank.

"I hope they know what they're doing," Marlowe said quietly as she watched the group of men head off to their positions.

"So do I," Happy murmured.

* * *

Bending over one of the Cartel's soldier writhing in pain, Marlowe worked quickly, assessing the damage and rendering aid as the sound of gunfire screamed over her head. By her side, Happy kept his position, his FN-67 held at the ready as he laid down cover fire, assisting his brothers and protecting Marlowe.

"How much longer, Marley?" he said calmly and let go of another few rounds.

"Almost done," she replied just as calm as she fastened the last bandage and watched as the injection of morphine started to work on her patient. "Let's get him out of here," she ordered.

"Where the fuck to?" her brother shouted as he let loose another barrage of gunfire.

Marlowe whipped her head around. "Back the way we came," she shouted and having placed her med kit on her back, grabbed the fallen soldier's rifle. "You take him. I'll cover you."

"Little girl, are you fuckin' crazy?" Happy shouted, his calm demeanor quickly vanishing.

"No, but you are if you think I can carry a man weighing at least 225 pounds twenty feet. C'mon, soldier. Move your ass," she ordered. "Right now," she insisted and then sighting a target, opened fire.

Seeing that she was right, Happy quickly hoisted the man by his uninjured shoulder and quickly made his way back to a sharp outcropping of rocks and heard as Marlowe continued to lay down cover fire as she followed behind him.

 _Damn, my little sister's a bit of a bad ass_ , he marveled to himself.

The last twenty minutes had opened his eyes to that fact and more as he watched Marlowe in action. Refusing to stay behind when the initial shooting started, Happy had no choice but to follow behind her as she quickly crawled out of the underbrush towards the fighting. So far, she had tended to four wounded men on site, one Cartel, two Mayans and one of the SAMTAC brothers when a fifth man from Alvarez's group went down.

The fighting was brutal and intense. So unrelenting that Happy wondered just how long they could keep up this level of fighting before some enterprising busybody alerted the pigs and they showed up to the party.

Finally getting the wounded man to cover, Happy looked up as several men ran up to take the soldier from him.

"Shit, 'mano, it looks like they got thirty, maybe forty guns up there," the man pointed to a ridge covered with trees and rocks. "My group is trying to circle around to get them from behind and take them out," the man said in heavily accented English, when suddenly the entire group froze as they heard a loud piercing whine.

"Get down!" Marlowe ordered. "Land mine!"

The noise of the explosion that followed rocked the area, with dirt, rocks and body parts seemingly falling from the sky. Perching herself on her knees, Marlowe watched in horror as she saw two figures trying to make their way back through the rocky brush. "No! Stop!" she yelled. "Land mines!"

But it was too late. Marlowe heard the loud whine as another device was set off and watched in horror as it blew, hurling two bodies into the air.

"Kozik!" she screamed.

* * *

Jax was dying for a cigarette, but with Marlowe insisting that he take his filthy habit outside and away from her workspace, he decided to stay put.

The convoy had made quick work of making its way back to Charming. The war, such as it was, was over for now. It had required some drastic action on Jax's part, but as a result, the Lobos Sonora crew had been eviscerated. For the moment, they had been victorious. Now they needed to regroup after returning with their wounded.

And their dead.

The Clubhouse was currently filled to capacity with Sons, Mayans, and Cartel soldiers, quite a few of which were wounded, some of them seriously. With all of the normally vacant dorms currently occupied, Marlowe was forced to use the Chapel as another triage area. Jax had not left the Chapel the entire time Marlowe was working on Alvarez. He couldn't remember the last time he had seen so much blood, but he didn't let that deter him from sticking to his stance. Although Marlowe insisted that she would be fine, Jax had refused to leave her alone with the Mayans. Allies they may be now, but the SAMCRO Pres wasn't taking any chances. She worked for the Club, making her safety his responsibility.

Truth was he liked to watch her work. She was a totally different animal when she was in what he knew was her element. Marlowe was fast, efficient, and cool under pressure. Seeing her jump into action to help the wounded today, including a couple of his brothers and one of Romeo's men, as landmines went off and RPGs exploded overhead had been an impressive sight. It was obvious that she had come into her own honing her craft on the bloody battlefields of Afghanistan.

The Mayan President had lost his own personal physician during a gun battle a couple of weeks before and Jax could see that although he was the one injured, Marcus was watching her work with great interest as well. He had been especially impressed when he had spoken to his Sergeant-at-Arms in Spanish, only to have Marlowe jump into the conversation, telling Alvarez in his own native tongue that it was rude to talk about her when she was standing right in front of him. It was also stupid considering that she was the one keeping him from bleeding to death. While his SAA didn't think that was funny at all, Alvarez busted out with genuine laughter, which was cut short by the searing pain in his leg.

"I should steal you away from SAMCRO," Alvarez said as Marlowe worked on his arm in order to set him up with an I.V. "How much are they paying you? Whatever it is, I'll double it," he said managing to flash her an engaging smile.

"Those are the painkillers talking, Marcus," Marlowe teased as she continued working. "Besides, I'm loyal to a fault. Unless SAMCRO gives me the boot, I'm staying put."

At that Jax smiled. _I knew I liked her for a reason_.

"Aww, maybe you shouldn't have said that out loud. At the very least, I coulda helped you get them to pay you more, sweetheart," Marcus replied.

"Hey, at least buy me a drink before you start calling me, sweetheart," Marlowe smiled engagingly, once again confirming for Jax that just when he thought he had her pegged, it was only a matter of time before she threw him off again.

"You've got the best bedside manner, you know that?" Marcus added drowsily.

"I was about to say that myself," Jax, who was leaning against the wall with his arms over his muscled chest, said as his eyes connected with Marlowe's when she looked up at him. She had almost forgotten he was still there.

"What is all that?" Alvarez's SAA asked, gesturing towards the I.V. "And why is he acting all loopy?" the young man asked, not accustomed to seeing his President so relaxed and at ease with strangers, especially not while in a former-rival's Clubhouse. No matter how good-looking she was.

"That's a glucose drip. Marcus lost a lot of blood and now that I stopped the bleeding, we need to replace the loss volume, which enables his remaining red blood cells to oxygenate body tissue," Marlowe explained as she pulled off her latex gloves. "And he's 'loopy' from the meds I had to give him to dull the pain while I basically performed surgery on his leg without the benefit of anesthesia."

"How long is that gonna take? I need to get him out of here soon," the SAA demanded.

"He's not going anywhere tonight," Marlowe replied candidly. "He will need at least another bag, maybe two of the glucose before he's stable enough to travel."

"Nah, see, that's not gonna happen," the SAA insisted. "You're just gonna have to come with us."

"No." Jax stood up straight. " _That's_ not gonna happen."

"What? You don't trust us?" The SAA asked, taking a step towards Jax.

"I can ask you the same question," Jax replied, not backing down as he stood almost a head taller than the man in front of him.

"Can you please take your macho bullshit outside?" Marlowe directed at Jax. "He's not going anywhere unless you're taking him to a hospital and, since I know _that_ won't happen, we're both staying put."

"Rafi, chill out, man," Alvarez said drowsily. "Doc here is good people. Do as she says."

Running a hand over his clean-shaven chin, Rafi shook his head. "Only if we can have a few more of our guys come and watch over him."

"Okay, but I didn't just spend the last hour trying to save his life only to murder him in his sleep," Marlowe responded.

"Whoa, hold on, Marlowe. That's not your call to make," Jax commanded.

Taking a step back, Marlowe crossed her arms over her chest. "Fine. How far is Oakland from here?"

"Why?" Jax asked, his mouth tight and his blue eyes blazing.

"If his Club insists on moving him, I may have to make a few trips to Oakland and back," Marlowe replied evenly.

Jax's nostrils flared. "Can I talk to you outside for a minute?" The SAMCRO Pres headed for the Chapel doors, where he stopped and waited for Marlowe to make a move to indicate that she was following him.

Almost throwing her hands up in frustration, Marlowe turned to Rafi. "Let him sleep. I'll be back to check on him in about an hour."

In spite of the late hour, Marlowe noticed that the main room of the Clubhouse was as lively and rowdy as it was during after-Church parties on Fridays, with food and liquor plentiful. Although Marlowe had given firm instructions to the wounded under her care to abstain from their usual boisterous drinking, she could clearly see that some were quite happy to ignore her instructions. She could only hope that they didn't keel over from a mix of alcohol and drugs as she wasn't in the mood to pump anyone's stomach. Sensing she had somehow stepped over the boundaries set for her, Marlowe figured that would probably be the least of her problems.

Reluctantly forced to follow Jax outside, Marlowe watched as a couple of Prospects sitting on the picnic table became a blur of ass and elbows after Jax gruffly told them to get lost. Indicating for her to take a seat with a nod of his head, Jax lit a much-needed cigarette.

"If you don't mind, I'd rather stand for my ass-chewing," Marlowe replied, earning a hard look from the handsome biker as he exhaled a trail of blue smoke through flared nostrils.

 _At least she knows what's coming_ , Jax thought grimly.

Brushing aside the fact that he hadn't wanted a woman as badly as he wanted Marlowe Guthrie in a long time, he also tried to keep in mind that she wasn't actually Club property, and gave her the once-over in an effort to keep his temper in check. New to the MC world, Marlowe was still learning how to function within the Clubhouse walls. That much he understood. As a matter of fact, this was a learning experience for everyone involved. She wasn't a croweater or an old lady and she definitely wasn't a member. Her role, although undefined in terms familiar to the brotherhood, was significant and important nonetheless. And even though she wasn't a bitch about it, it was obvious in the way she carried herself that, with her military and medical background, she commanded respect.

Giving it a quick thought, Jax realized that maybe the MC world wasn't so new to her after all, especially since she probably had to fight harder than most to make a place for herself in the male-dominated Navy. Put into such perspective, Jax was starting to understand the quirks that set her apart from the other women hanging around the Clubhouse. Specifically, the habit she had of standing in front of him like a soldier at ease, which, for lack of a better word, made him, well, uneasy. Jax was more accustomed to the stance adopted by most of the croweaters, which included their tits popping out from low-cut necklines and into his face. That he could handle. A woman standing in front of him with a posture that screamed she was ready to kick him in the balls with her combat boots if she didn't like the next words out of his mouth he wasn't so used to.

He should have seen it from the way she handled Happy that Marlowe wasn't a woman that could be easily intimidated. In reality, it was quite the opposite.

Tall and lean, with muscles that no woman he's ever known possessed, she wasn't keen on unnecessary chatter. With a sharp mind, an even sharper tongue and absolutely no filter, she definitely wasn't a shrinking violet. As a Corpsman, it was obvious that Marlowe was more accustomed to giving orders than taking them. Standing in front of him, her tan cargo pants and black tank top covered in the blood of today's wounded, Jax suddenly—and unpleasantly—realized that _she_ intimidated _him_! Not even Gemma at the height of her Queen of Charming reign could declare such a victory over him. As far as Jax knew, he didn't think there was anyone alive that could intimidate him.

Except for the young woman standing before him with the pin-up girl tattoo on a remarkably well-defined bicep. She wasn't physically intimidating—well, actually, she was because Jax still couldn't get over the fact that a woman could be built like that and still retain some feminine softness. He knew, however, that she would never be able to take him hand-to-hand. At the very least, he'd get thrown off guard if she came at him with aggression, long enough for her to get several good shots in. What intimidated him the most was what was behind those dramatic heather gray eyes.

As Happy had said on more than one occasion, _"My sister is one tough bitch."_

"Is this how it's gonna work between us?" Jax asked.

Unsure how he should handle a woman like Marlowe, instead of calming himself down with his introspection, Jax had managed to rile himself up more. It didn't help that every time he laid eyes on her he wanted to kiss her until she was breathless, even more so now that it looked like she wanted to tear a strip off of him. He knew that most of what he was feeling at the moment was residual anger as a result of the truly fucked-up events of the day. He also knew that a lot of it had to do with the resentment he felt towards Marlowe herself for keeping him at arm's length.

As irrational as it might seem to those around him, SAMCRO had come close to being wiped off the face of the earth in their battle against Lobos and his only one regret would have been not taking Marlowe into his bed. God help her if she decided to sass him back because Jax was one hair trigger away from throwing her over his shoulder and carrying her off to his dorm.

"I'm sorry for stepping out of line just now," Marlowe said softly. As if it wasn't enough that she threw him off guard with her unexpected apology, the sincere remorse in her eyes almost floored Jax.

Instead of gracefully accepting her apology, however, Jax regressed into asshole-mode.

"Then why the fuck did you?" he growled.

"I thought it was the right call to make—" she started, only to be interrupted.

"Those are calls you don't get to make, Doc. After that I.V. drip is finished, I want them gone," Jax demanded as he started back towards the Clubhouse. "The last thing we need is law enforcement catching wind of an alliance between SAMCRO and the Mayans. With Roosevelt and his deputies practically sitting on our asses since the shooting, we can't risk having a whole crew of Mayans camped out on the lot in front of a make-shift hospital. We don't need that kind of attention right now."

"Then what's the point of me being here if you won't listen to my advice?" Marlowe asked, still looking straight ahead.

Taking one last drag from his cigarette before tossing it aside, he walked back to Marlowe. "Your job isn't to give advice, darlin'. You are here to patch up wounds."

Marlowe turned her head slightly to look him in the eye. "And I've done that. All your brothers hurt today have been taken care of and are in no danger," she stated calmly. "Except for Kozik."

"We're not discussing this again," Jax warned.

"You need to get him to the hospital," Marlowe replied, ignoring his edict.

"He doesn't want to go," Jax said petulantly.

"Because he doesn't want to hurt the Club," Marlowe argued. "You don't get him to the hospital within the next twenty-four hours, gangrene will set in. After that, all I can do for him is amputate his leg."

"Don't you have antibiotics you can give him?" Jax countered, letting himself truly hear the gravity of the situation for the first time.

Marlowe was incredulous. "Have you seen how mangled his leg is? Even if I can save it, which would be a fuckin' miracle without proper treatment in a proper setting with proper equipment, he'll never be able to use it again."

Jax ran his ringed-hand over the hair on his chin. "Why didn't you tell me that before?"

"I didn't think I had to. I had him all convinced to let me take him until you voiced your concern about blowback against the Club," Marlowe replied.

Marlowe had spent a considerable amount of time working on Kozik in one of the cargo vans as it made its way to Charming and a lot of the time was spent talking to convince the patch of the seriousness of his injuries.

Watching Kozik fly into the air only to come down with a sickening thud had been awful and she had pulled away from Happy to run to his aid. He had been fortunate in that the Galindo soldier had taken the brunt of the blast, dying instantly and shielding Kozik from being outright blown to pieces. His right leg had taken the combined force of the impact of the explosion and his fall back down to earth. It had taken a full hour on the way back to Charming to stabilize his injuries and another hour working on him in his dorm with Chibs' assistance, doing what she could to repair some of the damage. She had finally coaxed him into going to the hospital but when the subject was broached with Jax and he saw his President's hesitation, Kozik changed his mind, refusing to go to St. Thomas in order to protect his brothers.

Jax sighed deeply. "He knows he can lose his leg?"

"I had to tell him, but he doesn't care. He said that sometimes sacrifices have to be made for the good of the entire Club," Marlowe grimaced as she shook her head.

"Then it's settled, Doc," Jax noted solemnly . "He doesn't want to go, so do what you can for him here."

"Jax, please," Marlowe pleaded. "Don't repay his idiotic loyalty by letting him lose his leg."

One blond eyebrow shot up in contempt. "He's an idiot because he's loyal?"

"Yeah, he is," she replied without hesitation. "He's as much an idiot as I am, loyal to a fault. Kozik is serving SAMCRO the way we both served in the military—believing whole-heartedly that no sacrifice is too big for the good of the cause. Only problem is that sometimes no one remembers all the good you did and the sacrifices made. Then you find yourself alone dealing with the consequences wrought by that blind loyalty. I told him it wasn't worth it."

"What did he say?"

"He said thinking that way can get me killed," Marlowe replied honestly. "And from experience, I know he's right, but I'm not scared, Jax. With everything that's already been taken from me, my life was all I had left to give and no one can take away what I've already willfully given up to SAMCRO."

Marlowe was many things, delusional was not one of them. After the shit storm she found herself caught in the middle of today, she knew one way she wasn't dying was of old age.

The intensity with which Jax was looking at Marlowe was enough to make her flush when he suddenly turned and started heading back to the Clubhouse. "What plausible excuse can he give about his leg?" he called over his shoulder.

"Plausible?" Marlowe asked, almost having to run to catch up. "You mean besides that a landmine almost blew it up?"

Jax stopped halfway through the Club door and turned to face her again. "Plausible without putting us on Homeland Security's watch list, darlin'."

Marlowe ran a hand through her hair. "He laid his bike down on the highway and ended up underneath a truck that proceeded to mangle his leg. With traces of gunpowder residue burned into his skin, though, that might have to go down with a grain of salt. But then again, Charming isn't exactly the inner city. Who's to say that any of the doctors pick up on it?"

"And why didn't he go to the hospital right away?" Jax asked quietly, playing devil's advocate.

"Aside from his irrational phobia of hospitals, he's Vet insurance is limited and was afraid his medical bills would bankrupt him. After the accident, he wasn't in his right mind and the gravity of the situation didn't set in right away. I patched him up as best as I could and it took some time, but I finally convinced him that he _had_ to go to the hospital or he was gonna lose his leg. Not _all_ of it is a lie," Marlowe grinned wryly. "I think I can sell it." She felt her heart sigh with relief at his reply.

"Good. Get him ready," Jax said as he headed back inside, once again stopping short at the bar. "Don't fuck this up." He pointed a finger at her.

"What about Marcus?" she asked, dropping her voice so only he could hear.

Jax almost sighed in frustration at her relentless tenacity. "The Mayans can take him to the hospital if they want. They're the ones who are gonna have to come up a really good reason why he's sporting three bullet holes. Somehow, I don't think saying it happened while hunting will fly with the cops," he replied sarcastically.

"You know they won't take him," Marlowe chided, refusing to give up. "If he dies, who's to say _that_ doesn't blowback on SAMCRO?"

"I say." Jax stepped waaay into her personal space. Their eyes locked and Jax couldn't help the smirk that curled his lips as Marlowe dropped her gaze first. The smirk was in danger of turning into an all-out leer as he noticed her eyes had fallen to his lips. "You wanna kiss me again, don'tcha?" he teased, looking to throw her off her game like she had him.

Slowly bringing her eyes back to his striking blue ones, Marlowe gave him a slight nod. "I am a red-blooded woman, after all," she replied nonchalantly. "I'd probably do it too if you weren't being such a prick right now." _That_ _and_ _if Happy wasn't floating around_.

"Yeah, that's right, Doc," he almost whispered, his fingers itching to lose themselves in her hair. "We do have some unfinished business leftover from the other night to take care of, don't we?"

"Maybe, but I think it's best if we just leave that shit unfinished, Jax," Marlowe replied earnestly.

Jax laughed, a sexy rumble that started deep within his chest. After all the shit he had been through the last couple of days, he ached for a moment of bliss with the woman standing in front of him. Maybe she was what he needed to remember the good old days when life was simpler, free of cartels and gun battles with an enemy he couldn't make himself give a shit about. Barely giving Tara a second thought, Jax licked his lips as the fire he had doused in lieu of more pressing matters reignited, fueling his desire for Marlowe once again.

"I really don't think that's an option anymore. We both know that's not what we want, darlin', to forget what we haven't really started yet."

Marlowe shook her head. _God, he has no idea how true that is!_ "What's with this 'we' business? You're getting ahead of yourself, outlaw," she started with feigned bravado. "I just think you've got a pretty mouth and got caught looking."

His blue eyes flashed wickedly at her. "There's not much that's 'pretty' about me, Doc."

Marlowe chuckled with a raised an eyebrow. "Nice try, but 'modest' doesn't really describe you, Pres."

Jax bit his bottom lip in an effort to suppress a smirk. "Arrogant prick better?" he challenged with a raised eyebrow of his own.

Marlowe shrugged her shoulders. "I only called you a 'prick', but 'arrogant prick' works, too."

As frustrating as having this conversation with the object of his desire was, Jax suddenly realized that he had long ago lost the battle of wills with Marlowe. When all he could ever think of doing anymore when she was in his orbit was dragging her to his dorm and fucking the smartass out of her, Jax knew she already had him by the short hairs.

Finally giving in, he said, "You go get Kozik ready for transport to the hospital. I'll let Rafi know he can have two of his guys _inside_. They can take it or leave it. I really don't give a shit," Jax said, and Marlowe noted a little gleefully, with a little less bluster.

"Thank you." Marlowe put her hand on his arm ever-so briefly. Real or imagined, Jax could have sworn he saw a spark fly just as Marlowe pulled her hand away. Almost like she had touched a live wire, Marlowe knew she had felt electricity surge through her body as she came into contact with his skin. "Shit," she said, her voice a breathy whisper.

"Shit, indeed." The lecherous grin was back and aimed at her at full blast as this time she felt herself flush.

Momentarily succumbing to her need to feel normal again, Marlowe realized she had probably let things go too far with their playful banter. There was only one true outlet for the tension they were creating together, but the sensible woman in Marlowe was determined not to let her cross that line.

"We agreed that door was closed for us, Jax, so let's keep it that way," she said quietly before turning away. "Now if only I could just remember that shit myself,"she muttered to herself irritably.

Watching her leave his orbit, hips swaying prettily just for him, Jax suddenly became keenly aware of the fact that he was also being watched. Looking around the crowded room, his brothers looking like the plan was to break night with a handful of croweaters to help pass the time, he noticed Happy propped up against one of the corners. His gaze was unfaltering, an undeniably angry glare directed at him.

 _Hap's still pissed_ , Jax thought as he eyed his brother.

His SAA had voiced his strong disapproval of Jax's decision to have Marlowe join them for their Lobos hunt, but Jax was glad he hadn't listened. Bringing her on board had been the right move. Not only had she been needed, but she had proven herself incredibly capable under difficult circumstances. As much as Jax knew he was only looking out for his sister, even Happy couldn't deny that shit. Turning to head towards the Chapel to speak to Rafi, Jax dismissed Happy's anger.

Happy, however, had seen his sister in action and couldn't have been prouder of her performance. Marlowe had proven herself with her med kit as well as with a weapon in her hand. The only weapon that was causing Hap any concern now, however, was the one Jax was wielding in his pants. Apparently, the notorious Teller Cock was both a blessing and a curse for the otherwise strong and capable women it had turned into hot ass messes.

_I love my brother and would die to protect him, but I'll be damned if I let Jax add Marley to that pathetic list._

* * *

"Marley-lass," Chibs was walking towards her as she turned the corner at JT's bike. "I think our boy Kozy is running a temperature."

Marlowe furrowed her brow as she walked with Chibs back to Kozik's dorm. "Is he awake?"

"Yay. He had a fitful nap for about twenty minutes at one point, but the pain in his leg is gettin' too much to bear, luvvie," Chibs replied as they were about to enter the room.

"Hey, Koz," Marlowe smiled as she approached the bed. "How ya holding up?"

"Hey, Doc," Kozik reached out and grabbed her hand. "I wanna put up a brave front for ya 'cuz I don't wanna come across like pussy, but its rough going."

"I can imagine. That's why I'm taking you to the hospital," she announced and Kozik was already shaking his head.

"Can't do it."

"You can and you will because you have to," Marlowe contradicted. "I can't do much more for you here and it would be a damn shame if you lose that leg, especially since with surgery I think you have a good chance of making a full recovery."

"You know da doctors will start askin' questions. Wha' happens then, luvvie?" Chibs asked.

"I'm not gonna leave your side, Koz. I'll handle any questions. You just writhe in pain and complain, scream if you have to and they'll probably rush you right into surgery," she explained. Kozik was lying on the bed, shirtless and propped up with several pillows. He was definitely feverish, his handsome face sweaty and flushed. He looked on the verge of caving, but she could see the struggle playing out in his mind on whether or not he should take one for the team. "I already cleared it with Jax."

"You did?" he asked, brow furrowed and hope in his voice.

"Absolutely. I don't think he understood how serious the situation was until I explained it," Marlowe replied and when it looked like he was still hesitating, she added, "He doesn't want you to lose your leg anymore than I do."

"Is it really that serious, Doc?" Kozik ran his hand over his face, wincing as a sharp, stabbing pain went through his leg.

"It _is_ , brutha. You need to go. _Now_ ," Chibs spoke up and Marlowe almost let out a sigh of relief.

 _Finally!_ Marlowe knew Kozik wasn't going to let her take him anywhere until one of his brothers let him know it was okay to think of his own well-being first.

"Okay," Kozik said tiredly. "I'll go, but I'm counting on you to protect me, Doc, and the Club. This shit can't blow back on them."

"It won't. I promise."

* * *

_**Monday, June 7, 2010** _

It was almost seven o'clock in the evening when Happy finally rolled onto the T-M lot. The garage was about to close for the day and, in spite of the events of the last twenty-four hours, it looked like it was back to business as usual. Letting Marlowe jump off before backing his bike into one of the few free spots left, Happy realized that most of the other charters would probably be sticking around for a while longer.

Leaving Happy to fiddle with his bike, Marlowe entered the Clubhouse and was assaulted by the delicious smell of something cooking in the kitchen. Her stomach growled in happy anticipation as she approached the bar.

"Hey, Marley-girl," Bobby greeted the medic with a big grin as he patted the bar stool next to him. "Hop on up here and have some of the Chili I just finished making. I got some 'hash-free' brownies in the oven too."

Propping her elbow on the bar, Marlowe pushed her loose caramel-colored hair away from her face with the other hand. "Thanks, Bobby. I'd love to, but I need to check up on the wounded and shower first. Save me some?"

"You got it, sweetheart," Bobby winked at her.

Marlowe tiredly pushed herself from the bar and was on her way to the Chapel when the door flew open and Jax stepped out.

"Thought I heard ya," he smiled at her as he crossed his arms over his chest, his legs shoulder-width apart. "How's Kozik doing?"

"It was touch and go, but the surgeon was able to save his leg. He's gonna have trouble going through airport security from now on, but with physical therapy, he'll be walking and riding in no time," Marlowe replied with a huge grin.

"Screws?" Jax asked, slightly wincing at the thought of titanium screws being drilled into human bone.

" _And_ a plate," Marlowe nodded. "He has to stay in ICU for the next 24 hours before they move him to a regular room. He's lucky. Despite my best efforts, infection was already starting to set in. The surgeon removed the infected tissue and they started him on an aggressive course of antibiotics. He'll be laid up in St. Thomas for a while, but I did get to speak to him for a minute before I got kicked out and he's in a really good mood."

Seeing Happy enter the Clubhouse over Marlowe's shoulder, Jax narrowed his eyes and stepped around the young woman. "Who's watching Kozik's back at the hospital?"

"Tig stayed behind with a couple of Prospects," Happy replied, his face set in stone. "Came back to drop Marlowe off and get a couple hours of sleep before going back to relieve Tig. . . if that's a'ight with you?" he said, a tone of challenge in the SAA's voice.

Ignoring the two bristling patches, Marlowe looked into the Chapel and found it empty and clean. Quickly whipping around, she asked, "Where's Marcus?"

"Prolly in his own bed by now," Jax replied, not taking his eyes off Happy.

Marlowe rolled her eyes and cursed under her breath. She should have known that Jax would put them out the minute she left for the hospital with Kozik.

Turning to face the tall, lithe and clearly pissed off woman, Jax started, "Hey, they stayed the night, darlin'. Ask Chibs, he was the one watching over him. And you'll be happy to know that Alvarez was able to walk out of here this morning."

"What? Are you serious?" Marlowe looked at Jax with wide eyes.

He nodded, a big ol' grin threatening to split his face in two. "Yup. You really impressed him. Said he was gonna make another play at stealing you away from SAMCRO."

Marlowe chuckled. "What did you say?"

Jax smirked, "That you're a pain in the ass and more trouble then you're worth _and_ that I was gonna think about letting him have you."

"Oh, I see," Marlowe smiled knowingly. "So he offered you a vig this time, huh?"

"Maybe," Jax winked at her.

More than just a little disgusted with the barely contained sexual tension between the two, Happy stepped around the pair. "I'm gonna hit the sack."

Marlowe quirked an eyebrow at her suddenly pissy brother as he disappeared down the hall towards the dorm. "Well, I better wash up before checking on the wounded." Turning to head for her dorm, Marlowe stopped as she felt a hand grabbing hers, pulling until she was turned around again .

"You did really good, Doc. I hope you know that," Jax said, the admiration for her coming through in his voice, his eyes boring into hers. "I don't know too many people who could have held it together like you did yesterday, all the while dealing with a grumpy biker giving you shit."

Marlowe couldn't help but grin at the praise. It had been a long time since she had felt valuable and needed, and even longer still since she felt like she was a part of something. The last twenty-four hours had been a lot harder than she could have possibly imagined and as the tiredness and the weight of that crept through her bones, she realized that she needed to make her exit soon before she started blubbering like an idiot.

"Thanks," she said, her voice nearly cracking with emotion. Quickly turning away, Marlowe's long strides carried her towards the dorms even as her vision started to blur.

* * *

It was pushing ten o'clock when Jax figured that it was about time he made his way home. The fact that he didn't want to go home was weighing on him, but after being MIA two nights in a row, he figured that his old lady would really put a foot up his ass should he not show up again tonight. Besides, he really missed seeing his son.

He was truly grateful that he had Marlowe to rely on as the Club's medic. There was no way he could have pulled Tara in for what had gone down this weekend. The mere suggestion would have sent her flying off the edge, and if by some miracle she had consented, while he had complete confidence in her medical skills, Jax wasn't so sure she would have been able to handle the type of shit that had rained down on the Club on what was now being called Bloody Sunday.

Since it had been on the news and in all the local papers, Tara was painfully aware of the attack on the compound. She didn't, however, have any knowledge of the bag of heads or of the Club's plan for retaliation. All he had seen fit to tell his old lady was that he was going on a Club-related run because that was the way Jax wanted it. The last thing he needed was Tara's voice in his head lecturing him on how bad a father and old man he actually was, nor was he interested in her opinion as to how he should fix the Club, especially since she was no longer an active participant in his life or the Club.

After weeks of estrangement, Jax had come to the foregone conclusion that he was going to have to travel on this hard road of salvaging his father's legacy on his own. It was clear to him now that Tara had only been willing to commit to him and Abel when it looked like she would get her happily ever after—a life without the Club and without Charming.

Deciding to get a beer before hitting the road, Jax walked out of the Chapel and, spotting Bobby Elvis, headed towards the bar. Even with all of the Mayan and Galindo wounded having left the premises earlier, the main room still resembled a hospital recovery unit. There were numerous banged up Club members from both SAMCRO and SAMTAC scattered about, taking up what available space there was. The craftier and mostly uninjured patches had already retreated to whatever dorms were available with croweaters in hand. Though packed to the rafters, the Clubhouse was eerily quiet, the only sound was some blues playing softly in the background.

"How's it hanging, Pres?" Bobby asked as he poured himself two fingers of Jack Daniels.

Jax grabbed a beer out of the fridge behind the bar and popped it open, taking a long pull from the bottle. Sitting on a stool next to Bobby, he sighed wearily as he looked at the father confessor of the Club. "I guess Clay wasn't shitting me: sometimes it _is_ tough being King," he replied wryly.

"I get that," Bobby responded, "but you're doing good, son. The shit you've handled over the last couple of days shows you got the stones to sit at the head of that table. You should know that by now."

"Sometimes I feel like I don't know what the fuck I'm doing," Jax replied before taking another swig of beer.

"That shit happens to all of us," the shaggy haired biker replied. "The thing is to recognize that and work through it anyway. That's what a great leader does." Bobby downed a good portion of his drink before changing the subject. "It's good to hear that Kozik is going to be okay. I have to say, it's a real good thing we have Marley-girl on board. I don't know what would have happened if she hadn't been around."

"Yeah, I know. She really handled her shit yesterday," Jax agreed.

"The poor bitch must be tired, though," Bobby noted. "She never came back for her Chili. I don't think I've seen her eat in the last twenty-four hours. The girl needs some meat on her bones."

Jax quirked an eyebrow at the older man's concern. "Maybe I better check on her before I leave," he suggested.

"Maybe you should," Bobby said casually, and watched as his brother set his empty beer bottle on the bar and headed towards the dorms.

 _Something tells me it's time to start the healing_ , Bobby grinned into his glass before swallowing the remaining contents. Picking up his guitar from behind the bar, he decided to go out into the night air and play himself some sweet Elvis.

* * *

**Glossary** **:**

**Ese: slang for homie**

**Jefe: chief or boss**


	26. Chapter 26

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sons of Anarchy. I do, however, own Marlowe and any other OCs that appear in the 2 Sons Universe.**

* * *

_**Monday, June 7, 2010** _

Jax smirked to himself as he made his way down the hall leading to the dorms. _These walls are really way too thin_ , he thought with some amusement, hearing the very vocal exploits of his brothers and the women they were fucking.

It suddenly dawned on Jax just what a pathetic bastard he was. Here he was, the SAMCRO President and probably the only man in the Clubhouse unwillingly _not_ getting laid. It really didn't make a difference anyway, Jax reasoned as he approached Marlowe's door, the one woman he craved but couldn't have.

The Club's medic was an enigma to him, a puzzle Jax knew he would love to unravel. This was something of a first for him when he considered the copious amounts of pussy he had enjoyed in the years subsequent to his old lady's departure. For over a decade, Jax had comforted himself by bedding at least a hundred different women, one face blurring into the next. None had ever managed to make the impression on him that Marlowe had and he hadn't even fucked her.

 _Yet_.

For the first time since Tara Knowles had entered in his life at sixteen, Jax had met a woman like no other—even Tara herself—in the form of Marlowe Guthrie. Marlowe was strong, independent, and skilled, as well as smart, fearless and beautiful.

And as Jax would soon discover, she was also tortured, flawed and vulnerable.

As he raised his hand to rap his knuckles soundly on her door, Jax was startled to hear soft whimpering emanate faintly from the room. Had he not been standing directly in front of the door, it was unlikely that he, or anyone else for that matter, would have heard the distressing cries, for it _was_ distress and emotional pain that Jax was hearing.

Rattling the knob with concern, Jax cursed under his breath when he realized that the door was locked.

"Shit," he muttered, torn. Unsure of his next move, Jax was on the fence, thinking that it might be best if he just left Marlowe alone when he heard her cry out, her voice raised.

"Kozik!" came the half-choked sobbing, settling the matter for Jax.

Turning away, he quickly—yet silently as to not disturb his preoccupied brothers—ran down the hall towards his own room. Digging out his keys, he let himself in. Flinging the door open, he went to the opposite side of the room and searched first through one, and then another drawer before finally finding the set of master keys Clay had turned over to him along with the gavel. Leaving the drawer open, its contents spilled out on the dresser and floor, Jax turned and, slamming the door behind him, ran back down the hall to Marlowe's room. After several attempts to unlock her door, he finally found the right key and the lock clicked open.

Ducking inside, Jax closed the door behind him and found himself standing in the pitch darkness. Feeling for a light switch by the door and finding none, by remembering the layout of the room and its meager contents he was able to slowly make his way over to the keening woman on the bed. Feeling for an empty space, he sat down and reached for the lamp he knew was sitting on the lone night table and flicked it on.

The weak lighting illuminated the room enough for Jax to make out Marlowe's restless figure as she tossed and turned on the full-sized bed. Wearing nothing but a black tank top and sinfully brief hi-cut black panties, Marlowe writhed and lashed out, the bed sheet twisting itself around her long legs as she desperately tried to fight her way out of a horrific nightmare. Her frantic mutterings, first at a whisper, then rising in volume, sent pangs of sorrow straight through the outlaw biker's heart.

"So much...blood," Marlowe moaned miserably. "Have to stop the bleeding first...Stupid asshole...should have blown his ass to hell myself...so tired of this shit...No! No, wait! I won't cut off his leg...Help will be here soon...We just have to hold on, damn it!" she groaned, continuing a series of almost incomprehensible dialogue from what seemed like fragments of very painful memories.

Caught off guard and seeing her thrash about in emotional pain, Jax was at a loss of what to do for her—that is, until she started screaming Kozik's name again at the top of her lungs. Moving quickly to silence her, Jax wrapped his arms around her, lifting her off the bed and onto his lap.

"Shhh, its okay, darlin'," Jax tried soothing her, but Marlowe continued thrashing about, frantically trying to escape his hold.

"Let me go!" she cried as she fought against him. "I have to help him...please, let me help him!"

With tears falling rapidly from behind her tightly closed lids, Jax was desperate to do what he could to comfort and give her solace. So he kissed her, covering her mouth with his own.

At first, it seemed like he had made the right move in that it immediately quieted her down, even though she briefly struggled in his arms. It quickly dawned on Jax, however, that it was the wrong move for him as her hands found and caressed his face. His name escaping her lips in a cry of both desperation and need immediately caused his body to ignite and respond. Disgusted with himself, Jax felt his cock hardening in his jeans, a totally uncalled for response when all he wanted to do was help Marlowe.

 _She's Happy's family. She's Hap's little sister_ _and the Club's medic_ , Jax continued with the internal mantra until he finally managed to get his body under control as Marlowe continued to wriggle against him.

Pulling his mouth away from hers with a wet, smacking sound, Jax tenderly replaced his lips with his fingers. "Shhh, darlin'. It's okay," he murmured in a soothing voice. "You're safe," he promised.

Shuddering violently, Marlowe's eyes snapped open, her heart racing in her chest. The air expanding her lungs hurt as if she had been holding her breath during her exertions. Barely aware of her surroundings, it was taking Marlowe a moment to determine whose arms were holding her. Not understanding how or why Jax Teller was in Kabul, Marlowe quickly decided that she didn't care as long as he didn't stop holding her. Burrowing herself against his warm chest, she tightly wrapped her arms around him as waves of emotion threatened to pull her under.

Presently unable to separate reality from memories, later Marlowe would realize that she had picked a bad time to wean herself off of anxiety medication. Knowing she should have expected this to happen after enduring the last forty-eight hours, Marlowe would kick herself for not properly preparing for it. This latest nightmare, a combination of past and recent events, had been terrifyingly vivid and probably the worst she had experienced in months, but nothing would affect her more than knowing she had fallen apart in front of the SAMCRO President.

At the moment, however, she didn't care and continued to cling to him as tears rained down her face. The last thing she wanted was to be alone. As she buried her face into his neck, Jax tightened his hold on her as her body was racked with sobs, making it almost impossible to hear her soft pleas.

"Please don't leave me alone, Jax," Marlowe whispered. "Please," she sniffed brokenly.

Protectively holding her in his arms, Jax knew that come morning Marlowe would most likely bitterly regret asking this of him and would definitely give him shit for it. She was far too strong, proud and independent to allow anyone to see her so vulnerable and broken, but there was no way he would abandon her now. Feeling responsible for involving her in what had turned into a fuckin' bloodbath, triggering what was undoubtedly an episode of PTSD, Jax was determined to see her through it.

Knowing how Marlowe felt about letting herself get too close to him, Jax knew getting Happy to come comfort his sister would have been the right thing to do. But seeing the terror in her eyes, her body still shuddering against his, he just couldn't do it. Because he had asked her to, Marlowe had stepped up in her duties to the Club and she had done her job brilliantly. Now she had asked him for comfort and Jax wanted nothing more than to be the one to take her pain away.

 _Damn the consequences_ , he thought as Tara's face dimly crossed his mind. He was starting to wonder whether the distance between them had even registered with Tara and, if it had, it was obvious she had very little shits to give. And it didn't surprise or cause him pain to realize that he didn't give a shit either.

Gently pulling Marlowe from the crook of his neck and brushing her wild hair away from her face, Jax looked into her eyes. "I'm not leaving," he whispered. "Okay, baby?"

Her heather gray eyes, dulled with pain, tentatively met his and Jax saw her nod her head, her relief apparent. Slowly pulling Marlowe out of his embrace, Jax stood up and walked back to the door to lock it. Quickly shedding his kutte, he walked to the desk and hung it neatly from the back of the chair along with his shoulder holster. Kicking off his sneakers and socks, Jax quickly unstrapped his knife and placed it along with his prepay on the nightstand. Leaving his boxers on, he shucked his jeans and t-shirt and returned to the bed. Untangling the thin blanket wrapped around her legs, he draped it over Marlowe, who had curled up on her side into a fetal position.

As he reached to turn off the lamp, she protested, reaching a hand out to him imploringly, "No, please. Leave it on."

Acceding to her wishes, Jax got under the covers with her and found the full-size bed quite comfortable in spite of the lack of elbow room. Pulling Marlowe's unresisting body into his arms, Jax gently guided her head back into the crook of his neck. With a soft sigh, Marlowe burrowed her head snuggly under his chin as her arm snaked around him to wrap around his waist.

Softly tangling his ringed-fingers in her long wavy hair, Jax almost held his breath as Marlowe continued to shudder sporadically against him. After a while, she finally stopped and the only sound he heard was her shallow breathing, indicating that she had fallen into a fitful sleep.

Finally, after placing a gentle kiss on her forehead, Jax Teller allowed himself to drift into an exhausted sleep as well.

* * *

 _Mmmm, so warm_ , Marlowe thought drowsily as she snuggled down in the powerful arms wrapped around her. _Damn, solid too. So real, it's the best fuckin' dream ever._ She was in danger of purring like a kitten as she felt the weight of a muscular thigh wedged between hers and hairy, masculine legs entangled with her own.

In and out of sleep, Marlowe felt as if she were wrapped in a deliciously warm cocoon as she enjoyed a wonderful world of peace where the rat-tat-tat sound of gunfire didn't exist, blood didn't stain her hands and face and the stench of death didn't cling to her skin. Instead, she inhaled a heady mix of cigarettes and smoky aftershave, and warm, sun-kissed skin.

In her half-awakened state, Marlowe allowed her free hand to explore the wonderfully warm, granite-like surface she was pinned against. Her fingers lightly brushed against a small nub that instantly contracted, tightening into a hard bud. Giggling softly to herself, Marlowe tweaked what felt strangely like a hard nipple. Tracing its outline with the tip of her index and middle fingers, Marlowe suddenly felt before she actually heard a deep, sexy growl.

_What the fuck?_

Unwilling to open her eyes, fearing that her sexy dream man would go away, Marlowe continued to lazily play with what, oddly enough, she knew was definitely a nipple. Smiling to herself in her half-asleep state, she reasoned that she might have to nibble at it first with her teeth before she could be sure. Her eyes suddenly flew open, however, as a deep, manly voice rumbled in her ear.

"Darlin', as much as I love that you're playing with me, if I don't stop you now, you're gonna get a whole lot more than you bargained for."

Without lifting her head, Marlowe cracked her eyes open, squinting them in confusion as they bounced around the room. As they landed on the chair next to the bed, she could clearly see a kutte and holster hanging from it. As her mind attempted to process what her eyes were seeing, her body was one step ahead when she realized that she wasn't just lying on the bed.

She was practically lying on top of the hard, muscled body belonging to Jax Teller!

Quickly untwisting her legs from Jax's, Marlowe sprung into an upright sitting position and focused gray eyes blazing with anger on the man that was grinning up at her.

" 'Morning," he greeted shamelessly.

"What the fuck—" she started loudly before dropping her voice down to a hoarse whisper, "are you doing in my bed?" she demanded.

Propping himself up on one arm, Jax reached out to tuck several stray hairs behind her ear. "I'm afraid you're not gonna like the answer, Doc," he responded quietly.

Marlowe's eyes widened. "Fuck! We had _sex_?!" she hissed at him.

"Babe," Jax started with a sexy smirk. "If we had, you would definitely know it."

"Then tell me why you're here before I stab you in the fuckin' eye," she shot back, her eyes wild.

Jax ran his hand over the hair on his chin and sighed. "I'm here because you asked me to stay," he explained softly as she eyed him with shock and suspicion. "You weren't yourself last night, darlin'. I didn't want to leave you alone like that."

As his words sank into her brain, Marlowe froze, the way he said them giving her a single moment of clarity. Suddenly, she remembered everything.

"Oh shit," she muttered as she covered her face with her hands. Despite the attempt to hide from him, Jax could see she was flushed red with mortified anger.

"There's no reason to be embarrassed or mad, Marley," he said, using her nickname for the first time. "Look at me," he gently pulled her hands from her face. "Nothing happened. You didn't want to be alone and I didn't want to leave you alone. That's all. Nobody needs to know about last night, especially because there's nothing _to_ tell. You were dealing with some personal shit and I just wanted to be here for you."

Marlowe moistened her tight lips. "So what you heard—"

"Is just between you and me, darlin'," Jax promised.

Marlowe nodded stiffly but then focused narrowed eyes on him in confusion. "How the hell did you get in here? I always lock my door." She watched as he shrugged his shoulders.

"Let's just say I'm a resourceful outlaw and leave it at that," he smiled. "I won't make a habit of invading your privacy, I promise."

Remembering how comforting and caring he had been the night before, Marlowe suddenly felt remorse for practically accusing him of taking advantage of her. "Thank you, Jax," she said looking him in the eye, hesitating slightly as she felt her heart quiver in her chest before finally saying the rest. "I'm really sorry you had to witness my meltdown."

"There's nothing to apologize for. You were having a nightmare."

"Yeah," Marlowe chuckled bitterly. "Well, my nightmares are more like night terrors and tend to get a little out of hand."

Jax nodded his understanding and sat up to face her. "Post Traumatic Stress?" he asked gently.

Marlowe nodded, letting her eyes fall to her hands in her lap. "Yeah. I was diagnosed with PTSD after my second deployment. I considered bailing on the Navy on a medical, but I just couldn't do it." She stopped and shook her head before looking up at Jax again. "The Navy has taught me a lot over the years, but the one thing they never teach is how to deal with the shit you see, the shit you do. They just expect you to _deal_."

Jax reached for her hand and Marlowe let him take it. Her mind was buzzing and her stomach fluttered nervously thanks to all the emotions she was feeling all at once—anger, embarrassment, gratitude, and a surprising amount of lust.

Gently rubbing his thumb over her knuckles, Jax said, "We have a Club full of Vets who have gone through the same shit, Doc. You can always talk to them. You won't be judged here. And, if you're not comfortable with that, darlin', you can _always_ talk to me."

Hearing those words coming from Jax soothed Marlowe's soul. In spite of being a woman in the male-dominated MC world, she was being offered a kinship she hadn't felt since leaving the Navy. If she hadn't felt it before, she was certainly now feeling a special connection to the Sons of Anarchy and one member in particular.

"I'll remember that," she replied, wanting to smile at him, but found herself unable to. Instead, looking at his chiseled physique as he lay back on the thin pillow, Marlowe felt her pulse racing at the base of her throat. Suddenly flushed, she was taken by surprise by how achy and desperately needy she was feeling.

Her latest nightmare had been her worst since arriving in Charming and knowing that Jax had used his arms and the warmth of his body to soothe and comfort her was doing strange things to Marlowe. For instance, instead of recoiling from Jax at the sight of the large tattoo of his son's name on his naked chest, her fingers were itching to caress the well-defined pec it decorated before letting her tongue swirl lazily around his nipple.

Shaking her head slightly to clear the fog, Marlowe closed her eyes. Her breath quickened as her thighs squeezed together, an involuntary action that somewhat eased the slow ache building between her legs. Raising her hands to brush through her undoubtedly wild hair, Marlowe's fingers unintentionally skimmed over her breasts, causing their peaks to stiffen and tighten almost painfully. Marlowe was afraid to contemplate the disheveled and messy picture she painted, but when she opened her eyes, she was confronted with blazing blue ones that mirrored her own lust. Marlowe reckoned she didn't look too bad as Jax started moving slowly over her until she was flat on her back and pinned underneath him on the bed.

Gently using his knee to pry her legs apart, Marlowe inhaled sharply as through his boxers she could feel Jax's semi-erection brush her thigh. Bracing himself with one arm, Jax hovered over Marlowe, his free hand caressing her hair and face as he dipped his head to drop gentle kisses along her jaw line. Pulling back slightly so he could gage her reaction, Jax's eyes closed of their own free will as Marlowe gently ran her fingers through his golden hair, sending a tingle down his spine.

Letting Marlowe take control as she pulled him towards her, Jax found himself involved in a sensuously choreographed dance of lips, tongues and teeth as they kissed softly at first, before hungrily devouring each other. Jax felt the blood rush to his thickening member as Marlowe mewled softly beneath him. She arched her back as his hand fell to her side, his fingers breaching the hem of the cotton tank she wore, wrapping themselves around a supple orb. Tugging at his bottom lip with her teeth, she managed a lusty moan as Jax tweaked her already-hard nipple. Breaking their clinch, he lowered his head as he lifted her shirt and latched onto the small pebble, biting it gently, then sucking on it to soothe the sting.

Noting that the sensuous ache between her legs had morphed into full throttle throbbing, Marlowe gently pulled at Jax's hair, forcing him to look at her again.

"Jax, are we really doing this?" she asked somewhat breathless, her voice shaky with need.

Knowing that he would now be unable to go back to a cold and unyielding Tara after being with Marlowe like this, there was nothing Jax wanted more than to say yes. He wanted to promise Marlowe that they could give into what they both wanted and that shit would work itself out because he and Tara were done. But even as he spoke the words to himself in his own head, Jax knew how it would sound. He wasn't about to use Marlowe as a way out of a dying relationship. More importantly, he didn't want Marlowe to think that was what he was doing. This time, Jax was determined to end things with Tara the right way because he owed _both_ women the respect they deserved.

Even though he wanted nothing more than to make love to Marlowe, Jax was about to call a halt to their would-be tryst when his prepay started buzzing wildly on the nightstand. Prepared to ignore it, Jax cursed his undeniable need to do the right thing as he lingered above Marlowe, who was looking beautifully disheveled and ready to be fucked.

"You should really answer the phone, Jax," she said, her brow furrowed. Jax shook his head and Marlowe braced herself against his muscled shoulders and gently nudged him back. "It could be the hospital calling about Kozik."

Jax's jaw clenched with tension as her logic penetrated his conflicted and sex-starved mind. "Yeah, you're right," he said rolling off of Marlowe and into an upright position. The phone had stopped ringing, but he figured he might as well check to see who had been calling anyway. Noting Bobby's number, the prepay buzzed in Jax's hand, indicating he had voice-mail.

Marlowe climbed onto her knees on the bed in order to admire Jax's back tat up close. She had never seen it before and was completely mesmerized by it. Punching in his passcode, Jax brought the burner up to his ear as he reached back to grab Marlowe's hand. Pulling her forward, he wrapped her arm around his middle and Marlowe found herself snuggled up against his back. Hating herself for how good and natural it felt to hold him like this, she cradled her head on his shoulder as Jax checked his messages.

" _Head's up, brother," Bobby's familiar baritone started. "Seeing as your bike's still on the lot, I'm not the only one assuming you're somewhere inside the Clubhouse, and your old lady looks fit to be tied."_

"Fuck," Jax muttered under his breath as he snapped the phone shut.

Marlowe's head shot up. "What's wrong?" she asked quickly. "Was that the hospital?"

Jax shook his head. "Nah," he turned to face Marlowe. "Just some housekeeping issues that need to be dealt with ASAP," he explained, unwilling to mention Tara.

" _Now_?" Marlowe raised an eyebrow, dumbfounded. Although somewhat relieved that their sexy game of cat-and-mouse would be postponed yet again, she also felt a little disheartened by the fact that he was about to bail on her.

Almost as if reading her mind, Jax smirked. "I'm sure if I hung around a little longer, darlin', I could make those panties drop," he said, laughing at the look of shocked indignation on her pretty face. "But right now I need to avert some trouble before it gets started."

Marlowe bit her lip and nodded. "Say no more, Pres. Duty calls. I get that."

 _Not really_ , Jax thought to himself as he cupped Marlowe's face in his hands. At this point, he would almost welcome having Tara walk in on them. But with their relationship suffering a slow death for a long time now, it would be unfair to have Marlowe blamed for its demise.

Leaning in, Jax kissed her softly. "I have some shit I need to take care of first, but we _will_ finish what we've started. You have my word on that," he said earnestly.

"At the very least, I know you're gonna try, Pres," she teased.

"Hey, quitters never win, darlin'," Jax flashed her a sexy grin, "and I hate losing."

Getting up, Jax walked over to the desk chair to retrieve his clothes. Watching him get dressed, Marlowe's fingers were itching once again, but this time for her sketchbook. She needed to draw him with his back tat while the image was still fresh in her mind.

Finally, shrugging into this kutte, Jax made his way to the door. "Jax," she called out, stopping him in his tracks. "Thanks again, for last night."

Crossing the room, Jax leaned over the bed and placed a lingering kiss on Marlowe's lips. "Anytime, Doc," he said with a wink before leaving the room.

* * *

Standing in the Clubhouse kitchen, Gemma rubbed her forehead with irritation. It was just too early in the day for her to have to deal with her son's thoroughly pissed off and completely clueless old lady.

"What the hell is going on here?" Tara practically hissed, her arms crossed over her chest as she stared balefully at Gemma. "Jax didn't come home for the third night in a row and coming in here, I feel like I'm on _The Walking Dead_ ," the doctor said, gesturing to the main room where several patches sporting heavy bandages on various body parts sat having breakfast.

 _What the hell happened to full disclosure_ , Gemma thought as she stared in disbelief at the angry old lady standing across from her. The SAMCRO matriarch didn't like being put on the hot seat by the new Queen, especially not an absentee one at that.

With Clay filling her in on the reason for the Club's previously unscheduled run up North, Gemma had stepped up and had been fully on board to render aid to her old man, her son and their brothers. Having organized the old ladies and croweaters to prepare food for the Club's return from what promised to be a brutal retaliation against Lobos Sonora, Gemma had gone a step further by having the Clubhouse thoroughly cleaned and additional medical supplies brought in for Marlowe in case shit went south.

And in hindsight, Gemma was glad she had taken the initiative because things had not gone completely according to plan. Club members and some of their associates had been hurt. With two Cartel soldiers dead and Kozik suffering the gravest of injuries, Gemma had done her best to see everyone through this difficult time. Tara, however, had been MIA during the call to arms. When Gemma had pressed her son for the whereabouts of his missing old lady, Jax had cryptically replied that Tara was at the hospital where she belonged.

With a giant eye roll, Gemma had snorted loudly once her son had been out of earshot. In spite of her day job as the savior of sick children at St. Thomas, Tara's place should have been by her old man's side. As much as she wanted to make allowances for all that Tara had endured by associating herself with the Club, Gemma's patience and understanding were wearing thin. Instead of having the new SAMCRO Queen by her side supporting the Club through their latest crisis, Gemma had instead watched as Marlowe Guthrie did the job that Tara should have been proud to do, and had done it extremely well.

 _And I wasn't the only one who noticed that shit either_ , Gemma realized as she remembered that Jax had not left Marlowe's side as she ministered to the several injured Mayans and Cartel soldiers on site. Marlowe had not only done her job well but according to Bobby, had even fought Jax to make sure that Kozik received the medical care needed to save his leg. She had managed to do so by running interference with the St. Thomas staff, feeding them half-truths and bold-faced lies to keep them from suspecting that Kozik's injuries were the result of some criminal activity.

Now, after two back-breaking days at the Clubhouse, it was obvious that Gemma was expected to placate Tara by making her feel that her failure to handle her obligations as Jax Teller's old lady was just fine and dandy.

 _Well, that shit is not happening today_.

"Some shit needed handling and those bruised and banged up men out there are proof that it was handled," Gemma started off as she folded her arms across her ample chest. "Just exactly what shit needed handling is something that you should have known as Jax's old lady. None of the old ladies here for the last couple of days knew jack shit about what was going down, but they were _here_ all the same, supporting their old men and the Club," Gemma pointed a finger at Tara. " _All_ of them, except for _you_."

"Oh, so now you're bashing me?!" Tara sputtered. "Why? Because I didn't show for up for something I didn't know shit about?!" she asked incredulously.

"Maybe you should ask yourself _why_ it is that you never know shit anymore!" Gemma tossed off. "When the Clubhouse is attacked and a bag of fuckin' heads gets tossed on the lot, not showing up to help prepare your man as he's going into battle is pretty fuckin' pathetic!" She watched as horror dawned in Tara's eyes and winced.

_Shit! Clay's right. I_ _do_ _go around setting fuckin' fires._

"What are you talking about, Gem?" Tara demanded and watched as the matriarch ran a well-manicured hand through her hair in frustration.

"Why don't you go ask your old man, huh?" Gemma retorted and watched as Tara's eyes narrowed into what some would call a death glare before turning on her heel and heading for Jax's dorm.

Gemma shook her head contemptuously, disappointed in Tara, but worried that she had just opened Pandora's Box.

And she had, but if Gemma only knew how opening that box would finally liberate her son from his own guilt, the SAMCRO matriarch would have done cartwheels down fuckin' Main Street!

* * *

Jax had just rounded the corner by JT's bike when he spotted his old lady storming down the corridor.

"Oh shit," he murmured under his breath, thinking how close he had cut it by lingering in Marlowe's room. Noting the angry expression on Tara's face, Jax wished he had at least made it to the kitchen because it was too early for this shit without a cup of coffee. In an attempt to forestall Tara losing her shit, he was about to greet her when she completely cut him off.

"Don't even start," Tara stage-whispered angrily, "unless you plan on telling me what the fuck is going on around here!"

Jax's jaw clenched as over her shoulder he could see several patches and hang-arounds look in their direction. "Tara, you need to calm down."

"What I need are answers, Jax. _Right now!_ " Walking past him, Tara grabbed his arm and half-dragged him towards his dorm.

 _Fuck!_ Jax inwardly winced as he followed her into his room and closed the door behind him.

With Tara facing him, her back was to the bed and Jax realized just how apocalyptic shit could get if Tara noticed that his bed hadn't been slept in. The last thing he was ready to discuss was where he had laid his head the night before.

"I need to know what's going on, Jax. You haven't been upfront with me and now I find out that on top of the Clubhouse getting shot up, someone dropped off a bag of _HEADS_! Why didn't you tell me?!" Tara raged, her voice loud and bitter as she stared at her old man.

Jax ran his ringed hand over his face. "I didn't tell you about it," he started in a calm voice, "because you as good as told me there was shit about the Club you didn't need or want to know. You can't demand that I respect your wishes only to bitch at me later when you find out that I only did as I was told."

"How convenient that you start respecting my wishes NOW!" Tara stated heatedly. "Did it ever occur to you that maybe I needed to know what was going on this time around? Not only is a bag of heads a real threat, Jackson, but I just had your mother tear me a new asshole for not being a good old lady by being Johnny-on-the-spot and patching shit up. So what happened?"

Cursing his mother to perdition, Jax sighed and then quietly related all of the events that he had been keeping from Tara over the last few days. Watching as the color drain from Tara's cheeks, Jax assured her, "The threat has been dealt with. I spoke with Romeo last night and the message we sent to Lobos was received loud and clear. It's unlikely that they'll be targeting SAMCRO again now that we cleared them out of NorCal."

"Are you even listening to yourself?!" Tara said with despair, her eyes wild. "The Club keeps getting deeper and deeper into this cesspool and nobody wants to admit that we're _never_ getting out of it, at least not alive! Jax, you are making decisions that affect me and Abel and I never get to have any say when I'm the one that it always bleeds over! Now I'm supposed to just believe that everything is all unicorns and rainbows because some Cartel guy says so? What guarantee can you give me that this rival cartel won't retaliate? What if next time they go after Abel? _Or me_?" she demanded as Jax ran agitated hands through his hair. "Don't you care about _us_?"

"You know I do," Jax implored as he put his hands on her shoulders. "Everything I have done up to this point has been about making a better life for my family."

Shrugging out of his grasp, Tara focused dark green eyes on her old man. "Where? Here, in Charming?!" she laughed bitterly, almost hysterically. "You know that's not what I want. If you really cared, you would do what I want for _once_. You would do something _for me_ , Jax and you need to do it _now_."

* * *

_**Monday, June 14, 2010** _

Watching Jax chain-smoke himself through half a pack of cigarettes in the last hour, Clay sensed his stepson's foul mood wasn't just the result of their meeting with the Irish. Being as that was all he had to go on, however, Clay decided to use it as an opening.

"You know, I'm not totally surprised at how this shit played out," Clay started soberly as he blew a trail of smoke from his cigar. Jax tore his gaze away from the glowing embers at the end of his cigarette to look at the older man. "Galen O'Shay is not a trusting man."

"Yeah, I think I get that now," Jax responded grimly.

The two brothers—two generations of SAMCRO Presidents—sat in the Chapel alone, having just returned from the Club's meeting with the Irish and the Cartel. All things considered, it had been nothing short of a miracle that Galindo and the RIRA had finally agreed on a deal, but it had not gone according to Jax's liking.

Galen O'Shay was now the point man for the Irish in Northern California. With the RIRA-sanctioned murder of Jimmy O'Phelan, Galen had been transferred from their operation in Eastern Europe to handle their stateside affairs after a seventeen-year absence. A hardened IRA soldier, Galen was an overly suspicious man whose prime focus was in advancing the Cause. He only liked dealing with people he trusted, men in his own likeness who were controlled and experienced in handling their shit. It had come as a complete surprise to Galen that there had been a sudden change in SAMCRO leadership and he wasted no time in calling into question the wisdom of putting Jax Teller at the head of the table. Galen, a long-time friend and associate of Clay Morrow, was a loyal man and his loyalties were not easily transferred.

As a matter of fact, Galen believed that John Teller's boy was hot-headed and dangerously reckless, thus making him untrustworthy. That belief had been somewhat justified when against orders, Jax had used the weapons sent by the Irish for the Cartel show-and-tell during the fight against Lobos Sonora the week before. It mattered none to Galen that Jax had only done so to protect his brothers, Clay among them. The fact remained: he had disobeyed a direct order.

His friendship with Clay and Jax's past and present actions combined to create a rather large chip on Galen's shoulder where the Club's new President was concerned. Adding fuel to the fire was Galen's own personal history with Father Kellan Ashby—a man who had lifted him off of the streets of Armagh and saved him from a broken life. The murder of Father Ashby at the hands of Jimmy O'Phelan put Galen at direct odds with Jax, whom he blamed for the priest's death.

The distrust and mutual dislike was only compounded further when Jax—doing a favor for Galen by acting as hired muscle with several other Club members—had completely lost his shit when he discovered the Irish were running another black-market baby selling ring on this side of the pond. After the smoke had cleared, Clay had tried to smooth shit over by explaining how Jax nearly losing his own son to the Irish arm of that business was why shit had jumped off. But Galen, while slightly sympathetic, felt that Jax was still too volatile and too much of a loose cannon to run point on the new operation.

Regardless of any reason, it had been enough for Galen to insist that, if the Irish were to go through with the Cartel deal, Clay must serve as point man for the Sons. It was bad enough that the Irish Kings had decided to do business with godless wetbacks; he wasn't about to trust Jax with this new deal, despite the fact that the first two runs under his leadership and authority had been successful and profitable.

Now as the two men sat musing over the events of the last week, Jax wondered how he would be able to make his plan for getting the Club completely out of gun-dealing work if Clay was still in the thick of the shit. Replacing Clay at the gavel had been part of a strategy, a necessary step in neutralizing his stepfather's power as Jax navigated the Club into legitimate businesses and out of guns for good. With Clay as point man on this new venture, it now appeared unlikely that any of Jax's plans could be put into motion anytime soon.

Feeling as if every time he took one step forward he was pushed two steps back, Jax wondered if maybe what Tara wanted from him wasn't so unreasonable after all. At the very least, it would give him breathing room if he didn't have to worry about his family's safety 24/7.

"Son, I know this isn't exactly what you wanted," Clay began, interrupting Jax's musings, "but I don't see a way through this situation other than to play it out Galen's way. He is not a man who trusts easily, but I think if you go along with the program for now, eventually you will get the chance to show him that you have the leadership skills necessary to run this Club _a_ _s well as_ the business with the Cartel. All I'm doing is keeping your spot warm." He watched as Jax lit up yet another cigarette with the one he was just about to finish.

"There ain't shit I can do about it, right?" Jax sighed. "I'm just tired of working on things, hoping they go one way, only to have them go the other. I'm looking at the big picture, Clay, and now I can't see an end to it all." He grinned mirthlessly. "Can't make Galen happy and lately, I sure as shit can't make things right for Tara."

Clay's eyebrows rose with some sympathy at the introduction of what he sensed was the cause of Jax's melancholy. "She giving you shit?"

"Yeah," Jax eyed his former president. "She wants to take Abel away for a while," he said cryptically.

"What? You mean like for a vacation or something?" Clay tapped the ashes from his cigar into an ashtray before raising it to his lips, but paused in midair as he heard Jax's reply.

"No, more like for some months. Maybe even a year." Jax watched as his companion lowered his cigar and dropped it into the ashtray.

"Are you fuckin' shitting me, son?" Clay asked disbelievingly.

"Nope, 'fraid not. This last situation with the Cartel has her spun out. She's afraid that something bad will happen to her and Abel, and I'm no longer sure that she's overreacting," Jax explained. "After what went down with Salazar and the kidnapping, I can't really blame her if she _is_ overreacting. I failed her and I failed my family," he said, feeling a tightening in his chest as he thought about the baby they had lost.

Clay nearly rolled his eyes as he shook his head. "She still milking that shit with you, son?" he asked, catching Jax off guard as his head snapped up to look at Clay. "Hey, before you jump all over me, I just think it's unfair that, over a year later, she seems to have cornered the sympathy market when it comes to the miscarriage. I know losing the baby must have been devastating for her, especially in the situation she was in with that Calaveras piece of shit, but I know you're still hurting too. It was your baby too, Jax, and you haven't let yourself mourn because you feel responsible. Shit, and I'm sure seeing Tara moping around all the damn time with a hang-dog face adds even more guilt to the pain you're already feeling."

"You're being a little unfair, don't you think, Clay?" Jax asked. "I humiliated Salazar, had Alvarez strip him of his patch and he used Tara to get back at me. It _is_ my fau—"

"Stop it right there, son," Clay ordered. Reaching out, he clasped Jax's shoulder. "That shit was bad, no doubt, but you can't take the weight of that on your shoulders. You were in Ireland, searching for the son you already had. You didn't know what Salazar was up to and you certainly had no control over how twisted shit got. You never intended any harm to come to your family, so don't let that misplaced guilt convince you that Abel deserves to be with anyone other than his father."

Jax stubbed his half finished cigarette in the overflowing ashtray and crossed his arms over his chest. "I have no intention of letting my son go _anywhere_ , Clay. I'm not gonna lie, though. When Tara brought up the possibility of relocating to Oregon with Abel, I considered it. Having a bag of heads personally delivered by an enemy will fuck with a man's head like that, but I know there's no place safer for my son then where I can protect him myself. Tara wants to leave, she's gonna have to do it on her own."

Unable to hide the look of disbelief on his face, Clay ran a hand over the hair on his chin as he straightened up in his chair. "Wait a minute, Jax. Tara's talking about leaving Charming for Oregon and you're okay with that?" he asked skeptically and Jax nodded. "Listen, you two may be having a hard go of it right now, but letting her go to Oregon ain't the answer."

"Nah, I'm sure it is, Clay," Jax assured him. "Tara was offered a job in a hospital up there and she wants to take it. She's not happy here and I'm tired of being the reason she's not. If I do let her take Abel with her, it'll only be for a few weeks, until I'm sure Lobos is really no longer a threat. In the meantime, I'll task Rogue River with their protection and I'll visit every other weekend."

"Son, I know you're concerned about your family's safety. Any good man would be," Clay countered, "but separating yourself from your son for a 'few weeks' is not the answer. Remember how that shit worked out for JT, and what about your mother? Look me in the eye and tell me Gemma's gonna be alright with her grandson living 5½ hours away, even if it is just temporary."

Jax shook his head. "If there is one thing I'm sure of is that Gemma will prolly kill me over this shit."

 _She'd have to get in line_ , Clay thought grimly. _Abel's my blood too._

The old biker had been by Jax's side every step of the way working to get his grandson back from the Irish. There was nothing more important than protecting family and Clarence Morrow did not like the idea of Jax's son being so far away from his.

"You have a tough call to make, Jax, but I just don't see the wisdom of letting your son go with Tara if the intention is to end shit with her. I get that you're just trying to keep everyone whole by giving Tara what she wants, but if you ask me, I'm with Gemma on this. Abel belongs with his father and his family."

Jax shook his head. "Nothing's set in stone, Clay. Tara's meeting with Margaret Murphy about reaching out to Providence Hospital. If it's a good fit and she decides to take it, I'll have at least two weeks to decide what's best for Abel in the short-term," he replied.

 _Shit, that doesn't give me much time_ , Clay thought, his expressionless face not betraying his concern. _I think its time to put Mama Bear on the scent._


	27. Chapter 27

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sons of Anarchy. I do, however, own Marlowe and any other OCs that appear in the 2 Sons Universe.**

* * *

_**Tuesday, June 15, 2010** _

Breakfast together was something of a daily tradition in the Morrow household. If not on a run or out on Club business, every morning usually found Clay relaxing in his chair at the head of the table, drinking coffee and sharing the newspaper with Gemma. The biker and his old lady would enjoy a leisurely meal together as they casually discussed shop or family business before going their separate ways. With Gemma heading to the T-M office to run their legitimate auto repair business and Clay to the Clubhouse to handle Club-related matters, their mornings together were usually one of the most peaceful moments of their hectic lives.

After sixteen years of marriage, there was very little that Clay and Gemma Morrow didn't know about each other. Along with a love that felt as strong and true now as it had in the beginning, they shared a life together that wasn't always easy, but not even their secrets could break the bond they shared. They were so in tune with each other that usually one just knew when something was off with the other.

Looking back, Clay figured he could probably pinpoint with accuracy when shit had turned bad for Gemma before he had ended up in Stockton again. A woman who lived to talk shit out, especially during breakfast, she had been uncharacteristically morose and non-talkative shortly after her "accident" off of I-18 on the night of Bobby's welcome home party. Still feeling the sting of anger at himself, Clay recalled how he had thrown the newspaper at Chaney the bird when his old lady had refused to stick around to talk to him. It was a sign that shit was wrong and at the time he didn't know how to fix it and had bitterly regretted not forcing shit out into the open.

Clay could also recall the personal devastation that he felt with the accidental death of Donna Winston. Gemma had been able to pick up on it the morning after, and at their dining room table had gently queried him until he broke down. His Queen had said the words he had needed to give him the strength to go out and be the leader his Club had expected him to be.

It was what they did for each other. This strange and sometimes twisted relationship of theirs was rooted deeply in love, secrets and betrayal. Most importantly, Clay knew he could always rely on his old lady to get shit done, which was why he was about to drop a bomb into her lap.

Looking over the brim of his oversized coffee mug, Clay watched his wife sitting next to him, the local supermarket circular spread out before her, along with a pad and pen and the remains of her breakfast pushed to the side. He grinned as he heard her muttering under her breath.

"Forget this shit! I'm going to get us one of those memberships over at the Costco in Lodi today. Murphy's must be losing their mind over there, charging $25 for a 24-pack of asswipe," Gemma complained.

Clay started to chuckle. "Gem, it's not like we're hurting for cash nowadays. Get the shit here and save yourself the trip."

Gemma sighed as she took off the reading glasses perched on her nose and laid them on the table. "You're probably right. Besides, since it's my day off from T-M, if I shop here, I can get it done that much quicker. I can salvage the rest of the day by picking Abel up and taking him to the gardens," she grinned. "It's a perfect day and he loves feeding the ducks."

 _Perfect opening_ , Clay thought.

"Speaking of our grandson, I've got some news I think you might want to hear."

* * *

Gemma Teller-Morrow was on a mission.

The SAMCRO Queen Mother had just learned that some serious shit was going on behind her back and she wasn't about to lie down and take it.

Although it was something that she would never admit to anyone, Gemma knew she was a control freak. That part of her nature was, unfortunately, just one of several genetic flaws she had inherited from her mother Rose Maddoc, the undisputed queen of all control freaks. The only difference between mother and daughter, however, was that Gemma did it out of extreme love for her family and the Club.

Leaving Charming in the rear view when she was only sixteen, Gemma had spent several years fending for herself. Those years had been tough and sometimes lonely, but also some of the best years of her life. She finally had the freedom she had always craved to control her own destiny by doing her own thing, but deep down Gemma had missed the stability and sense of belonging that came with being part of a family. Nate and Rose Maddoc may have been straight-laced and unyielding as parents, but they had—each in their own way—showed her the importance of family.

At eighteen, Gemma had been in search of that sense of belonging when she first met John Teller, who introduced her to a nomadic tribe of young men on Harleys and their way of life. Soon, Gemma realized that she had finally found a family that was her own, and there wasn't anything in the world that she wouldn't do for them.

Now, as Gemma stomped her foot on the gas, her brown eyes glittered angrily as she thought about the pile of shit her old man had dropped on her that morning.

_I'll bet every pair of Jimmy Choos in my closet that this shit with Tara is that redheaded bitch's doing_ _!_

Finding out from Clay that in the aftermath of the shit storm with Lobos Sonora Tara was looking to leave Charming for a job in Oregon, Gemma just knew that this bail out on the young woman's part had Margaret Murphy's stink all over it. The hospital administrator had been a thorn in Gemma's side ever since Jax had gotten involved with Tara again. Early in the relationship, Gemma—in the spirit of looking out for her family—had an "innocent" conversation with Margaret, nearly costing Tara her job when the pencil-pusher filed a hostile work environment claim against Tara, citing Gemma as her proxy. The bitch then went a step further by getting Tara suspended on suspicion of committing insurance fraud. She had accused Tara of coaching Chibs on what symptoms to fake in order to extend his stay in St. Thomas, preventing him from being transferred to a hospital in Stockton after his health insurance had lapsed.

But much to Gemma's annoyance, it seemed that Tara and Margaret had grown close as a result of their kidnapping by Hector Salazar. Never quite clear on how or why both women had come to be at the same location at the same time after work hours, Gemma had suspected Margaret of ingratiating herself into Tara's life even before Salazar had come calling. Now Gemma was sure that the administrator had used the situation, including the loss of her second grandbaby, to convince Tara of the dangers of being with someone like Jax. Gemma had no doubt that Margaret Murphy was behind this "sudden" job offer of Tara's.

As an outsider, Margaret could be easily dealt with. Afterward, however, Gemma wasn't sure who she would throttle first—Tara or Jax.

After their recent falling out after the Lobos Sonora ass whupping that had gone down over a week ago, Tara had been making a pointed effort to stay away from Gemma and the Club as much as possible. Obviously, the good doctor couldn't take some pointed criticism about her lack of loyalty to her old man and her unwillingness to serve the MC.

But it was Jax that really had Gemma seeing red. Had he not learned his lesson in Belfast?! She didn't care if _ten_ bags of heads had been dumped on the lot.

_You_ _ never _ _abandon your family._

Not only had he given in to Tara's demands, but now it appeared that Jax was ready to let his old lady take _his_ son—not Tara's—out of state and away from his family.

_From his own grandmother!_

And that was something the Queen could not allow.

* * *

Learning from one of the Chatty Cathy nurses in the Neonatal Unit that Tara was in the middle of one of the two surgeries on her schedule, the SAMCRO matriarch went in search of her real prey. She found Margaret Murphy sitting in her small second floor office in the administrative wing of St. Thomas.

From an unobserved position, Gemma propped herself against the open doorway and smirked as she watched the woman deeply absorbed in a stack of paperwork. The redhead was, as usual, wearing one of her terminally boring business suits, this one a dull gray. It covered a body that was slim, petite, and not at all bad looking considering the fact that its owner was such an interfering tight ass bitch.

Stepping into the doorway and using the knuckles of her slender fingers to rap lightly on the door, Gemma watched as the woman lifted her head and focused startled eyes on hers. Noting the sudden alarm in the woman's hazel eyes, Gemma watched as a mask of calm and authority slowly settled on Margaret's face.

 _Bitch is_ _still_ _scared to death of me, Gemma_ thought with amusement. _That's good to know. I can work that shit_.

"Can I help you?" Margaret put the ballpoint pen she had been holding in her right hand down on her desk and carefully interlaced her fingers, resting her hands on top of her work.

"I'm thinking you might," Gemma drawled as she sauntered across the room, using her foot to kick the door shut behind her. She nearly grinned as she saw a quick look of panic cross the administrator's face before she was able to school her features back into a semblance of control.

"If this has to do with questions concerning coverage for hospital treatments, I'm afraid you'll need to schedule an appointment. I'm extremely busy and don't take meetings on the spur of the moment," Margaret advised, her voice steady and calm.

Gemma allowed one corner of her mouth to twist wryly. "Oh, this won't take long, Red," and watched the affronted look replace the snooty one on Margaret's face.

"My name is Margaret Murphy," the woman replied in stilted tones, "not _Red_."

Gemma sat down in the chair opposite the desk and crossed a denim clad leg over her knee, resting her handbag on her lap. "Oh, I know who you are. I just prefer calling you Red, _Red_." Gemma grinned as she noted the woman's ire.

_Got a temper to go with that hair, don'tcha, Red? Let's see if we can fire it up._

"I know," Margaret started pompously, "that you seem to think that you're somebody in this town—"

"Oh, darlin', don't get it twisted. You _know_ I am," Gemma replied archly.

"—but make no mistake, however. I am not afraid of you or your little band of biker degenerates."

"I see someone's little administrative degree is coming in handy, using big words and shit," Gemma shot back. "Unfortunately, that doesn't carry any weight with me, Red. And as for your claim of not being scared of me or the Club, well, I think we both know that's not true. I can smell your fear from here, which is why I can't understand why you would continue to involve yourself in shit that is none of your concern."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Margaret claimed with a tilt of her chin, as if she were looking down her nose at Gemma.

"But I think you do, so there's no sense in you denying it. See, I'm talking about the shit you're orchestrating to separate Tara from my son," Gemma said, her anger evident as she straightened up in her chair. "I know all about the job offer in Oregon that just _suddenly_ fell out of the fuckin' sky. You underestimate me if you think I don't know that you had something to do with that."

Margaret crossed her arms over her chest. "Well, quite frankly, I don't care what you know or think you know, but yes, I did help in getting her that position. I'm just glad that Tara finally told you. I'm proud of her and if you cared about her at all, you would be happy for her too."

_Take that you biker whore!_

For a long time, Margaret felt as if she had been fighting a losing battle when it came to getting Tara Knowles to see the futility of sharing her life with a member of the Sons of Anarchy. Having barely escaped herself from a self-destructive lifestyle with a man she believed was her soul mate, it took Margaret almost dying from a drug overdose before finally waking up and making the necessary changes in her life. Having escaped a similar life as Tara, Margaret felt it was her obligation to help her overcome the bad choices she had made in the name of love. Now that Tara was on the brink of getting away, and despite the fact that Margaret was deathly afraid of the MC, it gave her great pleasure to finally tell the woman who had such a stranglehold on Tara that she was finally escaping her mad world.

Gemma leaned back in her chair, not betraying the fact that she picked up on what would be Margaret's first little slip during their conversation.

 _She 'helped' Tara in 'getting' the position,_ Gemma thought as she smoldered. _Clay said that, according to Jax, the hospital had come looking for her._

Tabling that thought for the moment, she focused her brown eyes on Margaret's triumphant ones. "Well, well," she drawled, "even uptight, bureaucratic bitches have claws. Who woulda thunk it?" Gemma snarked.

"Just proves that you don't know me as well as you thought you did," was Margaret's snide reply.

"I knew enough to know that if there was one person who was hell bent on interfering in shit that didn't concern her, it would be you. What I can't understand is why," Gemma countered. "You're nothing more than Tara's boss."

"I'm more than that," Margaret shot back angrily. "I'm her friend, the only one who, apparently, truly cares enough to try and save her from her white trash thug of a boyfriend and his horrible club. Ever since Tara got involved with your son, she's endured nothing but trouble and pain. We nearly died at the hands of the scumbag who kidnapped us because of your son!" she exclaimed and nodded as she watched the point driven home in Gemma's eyes.

Gemma winced. As much as she wanted to argue against everything Margaret was saying, when it came to Hector Salazar, Gemma knew she couldn't. The man had not only kidnapped both women, but had been responsible for Tara's miscarriage, a tragedy that had caused Jax and Tara a lot of pain and no doubt had contributed to their present inability to find happiness with each other again.

"Tara wasn't the only one hurt by what happened," Gemma said defensively. "My son still bitterly regrets what happened to Tara and the baby—" she started, but was interrupted by Margaret.

"Excuse me for saying so, but I care very little for what your son _regrets_. It wasn't an easy decision for Tara to make, but she had every right to make it. Tara has a brilliant future ahead of her and bringing that child into your world would have been a disaster waiting to happen. She knew that raising another child in that horrible environment was not only unfair but selfish," Margaret said as she angrily glared at the frozen woman sitting across from her. "So whatever pain your son has suffered is inconsequential in the overall scheme of things. The whole town is talking about how your Clubhouse was shot up last week by some rival gang hell-bent on making trouble. The decision to have an abortion may have weighed heavily on Tara, but now that she has accepted the Oregon offer, she has nothing to tie her down to this town or your son anymore."

 _Oh my God,_ Gemma thought numbly, her heart beating erratically in her chest. _Tara had an abortion. She killed_ _my_ _grandbaby!_

Sitting back in her chair, Margaret smirked smugly. Reiterating what she believed Gemma already knew, she had thoroughly enjoyed putting the biker whore in her place. It was about time that the world realized that Tara had more going for her than Jax Teller.

Before Margaret realized what was happening, Gemma leaped out of her chair and, reaching over the desk, gripped Margaret by the throat. The force of the attack propelled the administrator and her chair on wheels backwards, slamming it into the credenza behind her. A vase of fresh flowers crashed to the floor and shattered as Margaret desperately struggled to remove the woman's vise-like grip from her throat before she was choked to death.

"You are going to tell me everything I want to know," Gemma growled, her face pressed closely to Margaret's. "And if you want to keep breathing, you'll keep this shit to yourself or I will let my son _and_ his Club deal with you," she warned before finally releasing Margaret and shoving her backward in her chair.

Clutching at her throat and gasping for air, tears running down her face, Margaret raised terrified eyes to the woman looming above her.

* * *

Sitting in her SUV, Gemma was seriously tempted to pull out her stash and toke up. If there was ever a time when she needed to self-medicate, it sure as hell felt like that time was now. But even though she felt close to being overwhelmed by her feelings of anger, bitterness and pain, Gemma knew that keeping a clear and sober head might be the best play for her to make for the foreseeable future. After all, even though it hurt to learn that the loss of her second grandchild had been intentional, nothing pained her more than knowing that shortly she would have to do the unthinkable and crush her son with the news of his old lady's ultimate betrayal.

If she was honest with herself, Gemma hadn't been all that surprised by what she had discovered by nearly squeezing the life out of Margaret. For many months now, she'd had the nagging feeling that something was off with Tara. Her instincts where people were concerned had been honed over the years and Gemma very rarely doubted herself. That nagging feeling had all been confirmed by the current state of her son's relationship with his old lady. Although Jax shared very little regarding his personal life with his mother, Gemma didn't need writing in the sky to let her know there was trouble in paradise, especially not with Jax practically living in the Clubhouse. Gemma now realized that she should have pushed for the truth a long time ago. It was painfully obvious now why Tara had been keeping her at arm's length.

"Because the devious little bitch knew I would sniff this shit out," Gemma muttered to herself as she rooted around in her bag, finally pulling out a pack of cigarettes. Lighting one up, she blew out a stream of smoke in an angry exhale. _Stupid bitch! I told her to wait until we got back from Ireland! How could she do this to my Jackson?_

Gemma covered her eyes with her hand as she thought about her son, contemplating just how she was going to tell him the truth about the baby he had spent months grieving over. He actually blamed himself for Tara's "miscarriage" and Gemma could kill the bitch for that alone.

 _You never forget when someone hurts your baby_.

Gemma remembered the very day she had said those words to her son. They had been standing over Abel's incubator as she had tried to reason with Jax, advising him that getting involved again with Tara Knowles was a very bad idea.

_Sometimes I hate it when I am fuckin' right._

Gemma remembered the first time Jax had brought Tara to the Clubhouse and from the moment she had set eyes on the young and fragile looking girl, she had known that Tara would be trouble. The town of Charming was small enough that Gemma knew many of its residents. The Queen of Bikers took her responsibilities to the Club very seriously and liked knowing everything about anyone that hung around the Clubhouse, especially if they had the potential to cause trouble.

Drew Knowles was well-known around Charming. The widower with a pre-adolescent daughter was not only movie star handsome, but was the town drunk as well. A hardworking loner, Drew kept mostly to himself except on paydays, when he would make the rounds of the various bars in Charming. A belligerent alcoholic with violent tendencies, many of the town's residents went out of their way to stay out of his. Although no one knew for sure, rumors were that he had been bipolar even before the premature death of his wife had driven him into a deep depression.

And judging by the black eye marring her face, it had been painfully obvious to Gemma that Tara's shitty home life had inspired in Jax an equal need to bang and protect the somewhat attractive and studious girl. It soon became clear to Gemma that the young lovers were self-absorbed and incredibly possessive of each other, a clear indicator of an unhealthy relationship. Being with Jax for a little over three years had somehow empowered Tara. No longer meek, Tara often acted as if she owned Jax outright, exerting her authority by beating the shit out of any girl or croweater that tried to make a play for Jax. That is until Tara decided that she no longer wanted to live in Charming and abandoned him, breaking his heart.

Now, Tara had once again betrayed Jax's love for her, this time by twisting his soul, allowing him to believe that his life as a Son had been directly responsible for the death of their unborn baby.

This time Tara Knowles would lose Jax Teller once and for all. Gemma Teller-Morrow would see to that shit personally.

Lifting her hand to swipe away the tears that ran down her face before picking up her prepay, Gemma realized that she couldn't do what she had to do alone, and dialed her old man's number.

* * *

The lot was a hive of busy activity when Gemma pulled in. Parking in her usual spot, she got out and slamming the door, made a beeline towards the Clubhouse.

Exiting the office, Chucky met her halfway as he skipped over with a sheaf of papers clutched in his faux hands. "Hiya, Gem. Wasn't expecting to see you today. Since you're here, I got a question—" the diminutive man started, but Gemma held up a hand to cut him off.

"Later, Chucky. I've got some shit to handle," she said brusquely.

"I see that you do," Chucky murmured as he watched the tall woman stride with purpose into the Clubhouse. "And something tells me it's some serious shit that needs handling."

Walking inside, Gemma headed towards the Chapel almost hesitating as she saw the doors partially open.

 _Make it quick, don't prolong it_ , she ordered herself as she pushed the door open.

Walking inside, she saw her son seated at the head of the table with her old man standing on Jax's left, his face grim. Closing the door behind her, she walked forward, tossing her handbag on the table before reaching over to kiss her son on the cheek.

"Hey, baby," she greeted him quietly.

"Ma, what's going on?" Jax queried as he examined his mother's pale face and frowned as he noted the faint tell-tale signs that she had been crying. "I was on my way to the warehouse when Clay practically dragged me off my bike because you had called." His eyes widened as a thought came to him. "Is something wrong with Abel? Something happen to Tara?" he asked anxiously.

"No, baby," Gemma assured him as she pulled out the chair next to him and sat down. "Abel's fine, I promise you," she said as she moistened her suddenly dry lips. "Tara's just fine, too."

_For at least another five minutes, that is. Good Lord, I really could have used that joint._

Gemma raised her brown eyes to meet her old man's. She could easily read his thoughts reflected in his angry steel blue eyes.

_Give it to him straight, Gem. No chaser._

The SAMCRO matriarch reached out to take her son's hand in hers. "Baby, I have some shit to tell you that I know won't be easy for you to hear," she started. "I realize that your first instinct will be not wanting to believe me but trust me, you have to."

"Believe what, Ma?" Jax asked quietly, the nagging feeling that his life was about to take a 180 clenching his stomach into a tight knot.

"I know you think I'm an interfering control freak, and you're right. I am," Gemma admitted softly, "but everything I do is because of you, Jackson. You are my family, _my world_ and I would do anything to protect you and Abel, so when Clay let it slip that Tara was considering taking a job in Oregon and that you were thinking about letting her take Abel—"

Jax turned to face his stepfather. "You did what?!" he asked heatedly.

Clay huffed and sputtered. "First off, I've never let anything _just_ 'slip' in my life," the hardened biker stated in his defense as he looked into the angry eyes of his son.

"So, you ratted me out," Jax accused. "After I confided in you."

"Hey, now. That's a bit harsh, but yeah," Clay acknowledged sheepishly. "I **_told_** your mother, so go ahead and tear me a new asshole if you wanna, but I figured she had a right to know. 'Sides, getting Gem involved was the best play I could think of to keep you from making what I know is a big mistake, son."

"What mistake? I told you nothing was set in stone," Jax countered angrily.

"Listen, let's be real here," Clay chastised. "Tara has a way of twisting you up, Jax. You say you're done with her now, but we all know from past experience that you're _never_ really done with her."

"What?" Gemma asked perplexed. "You broke shit off with Tara?" she asked her son.

Jax shook his head. "No, not yet."

"Regardless," Clay spoke up in an attempt to get the discussion back on topic. "Considering that your relationship with Tara _is_ on the rocks, letting her have temporary custody of your son just didn't make any sense to me. I mean, I know you haven't forgotten what happened to Abel the last time she found herself in a tight spot," he said, sarcastically alluding to Abel's kidnapping by Cameron Hayes.

A feeling of dread suddenly crept over Jax once again as he looked into the stern face of his stepfather. That ominous feeling had been plaguing Jax ever since Tara had dropped her demands on him, which had led him to confide in Clay that he was contemplating letting her take Abel to Oregon. The part of him that knew Tara had every right to be concerned about her safety tried convincing him that Abel would be safer away from Charming. The part of him, however, that knew his relationship with Tara was over wasn't so sure.

Which was why Jax was itching to choke the living shit out of Clay for involving his mother!

After getting his son back from the Irish, Jax had promised himself as well as Abel that no one would ever separate them again. Tara had unnerved him, calling into question his devotion to his son, causing Jax to stumble in his confidence as a father. It had taken him a minute, but Jax was back on solid footing when it came to his commitment to Abel. There was no way in hell he would ever let Tara—or anyone—take his son away.

"Ma, in spite of what Clay seems to think," Jax started, throwing an annoyed glance at his stepfather, "your involvement in this is not only unnecessary, it's a bad fuckin' idea. This shit between me and Tara isn't about you, so let me work it out, a'ight?"

"Jax, this isn't about you working shit out with Tara," Gemma replied grimly, but Jax interrupted.

"Good," he said, his voice hard. "And just so shit won't hit you sideways when it does explode, Tara is working out the details of her transfer to a hospital in Oregon. Once it's a done deal, she'll be making that move by herself, without Abel and without me."

Confused and exhausted already, Gemma slumped back in her chair and looked from her son to her old man and back. In the process of trying to make sense of all she had learned from Margaret Murphy, combined with what she was hearing from Jax, as she was prone to do from time to time, Gemma jumped to the wrong conclusion.

"You knew, didn't you?" she accused angrily. "That's why you didn't propose to her when you got out and that's why you're letting her go, because you knew."

"Uh, Gem," sensing an outbreak of foot-in-mouth disease, Clay tried to interrupt.

"No, no, no," Jax raised a hand, his eyes never leaving his mother. "Let her finish. What did I know that the almighty Queen of Charming did not?"

Gemma shook her head in disappointment. "Was it your idea, Jackson?"

"Gem!" Clay barked in warning. "Just stop! Remember why you're here. _He doesn't know_."

Seeing the color drain from his mother's face, Jax quickly lost whatever patience he had left and slammed a balled up fist on the Redwood table. "Goddamn it! Somebody just spit it out! What the fuck is going on?!"

"There's no way to do this painlessly, Gem," Clay softly coaxed his grim-faced and tight-lipped old lady.

Gemma nodded, knowing that just like in Belfast when she had to snap Jax back to reality with the news of Tara's pregnancy to get him to change his mind about abandoning his son, she had to hit him hard with the fuckin' truth.

Deciding to bite the proverbial bullet, Gemma started, her voice shaky, "Jax, Tara didn't miscarry your baby. She had an abortion."

Except for the sound of Jax's harsh and ragged breathing, the room was deathly silent. For a moment, he just stared at his mother, his mouth turned down into a frown as he repeated what she had just said in his mind. For a brief second, Jax contemplated the possibility that maybe he had just suffered a stroke. That was the only explanation he could think of for his sudden inability to make sense out of what Gemma had said. His denial, however, quickly turned into rage as he contemplated the new level of depravity reached by his mother in an effort to manipulate a situation she had no control over.

Yet as he stared into her sympathetic eyes, Jax found himself struggling with what his mind was telling him to believe versus what his heart refused to acknowledge. The pained sincerity he saw in his mother's eyes was something not even the almighty Queen of Bikers could fake. Swallowing hard, Jax fought to keep the bile in his stomach from rising in his throat.

"Have you lost your fuckin' mind?" he asked her hoarsely. Standing abruptly, Jax's chair slid back and slammed against the wall. "Tara lost the baby as a result of the kidnapping. She was mistreated and abused and had I known at the time, I would have slit _Salazar_ from balls to neck. Why would you say something like that to me, Mom?" Jax nearly pleaded, his eyes red with barely restrained emotion.

Gemma rushed forward, taking her son's face in her hands. "I wouldn't, baby. I may have done my share of awful shit in my day, but I would _never_ lie to you about something like this. I would never use the death of your child to manipulate you," she said, swiping the beads of sweat that had formed on Jax's clammy forehead.

"Then where is this coming from?" he asked incredulously. "Who lied to you and why?"

Gemma shook her head. "No one, Jackson. When Clay told me about this Oregon offer, I knew that redheaded bitch down at the hospital had to be responsible, so I went down there this morning and I confronted her," she explained. "She's a real piece of work, too. She gloated, telling me how Tara leaving Charming and her white trash biker boyfriend was the best thing that could ever happen to her. That's when she let it slip," she paused for a breath to brace herself as she looked into her son's pain-filled eyes.

"What did she tell you?" Jax asked through a clenched jaw.

"After I put her ass in a choke hold, everything," Gemma replied candidly. "Tara went to _her_ for a referral to an off-the-books clinic. The reason Margaret was snatched by Salazar too was because she volunteered to take Tara to the family-planning center in Galt. They were on the way home _after_ the procedure when he grabbed them," Gemma said as unbidden tears ran down her face. "Tara had an abortion the same day we headed out for Ireland to find Abel. When she found out I had told you she was pregnant, she lied because she was too much of a coward to tell you the truth. Don't you see, Jax? She has been manipulating you with guilt ever since! The same guilt that was going to let her walk away from Charming with Abel!"

* * *

Happy was hard at work draining transmission fluid from a Toyota Corolla when Tig let out an exclamation.

"Oh shit, brother. Something's going down," the curly-haired biker said as he palmed a wrench, his attention fixed on the Clubhouse.

Happy stood up in time to see Jax practically running towards his ride.

"What the fuck?" he murmured, his senses on high alert. Hastily wiping his hands on a dirty rag, Happy started to shuck his T-M work shirt as he headed towards the bay's entrance, grabbing his kutte and Glock hanging on a row of hooks on the wall. Shrugging them on, his eyes narrowed in alarm as he watched Gemma and Clay run out of the Clubhouse after their son.

"This ain't good, bro," he muttered and took off at a run. By the time he got to the couple, Jax was already speeding out of the lot.

"What's going on?" Happy shouted but was cut off by Gemma.

"Just go after him!" she shouted. "Stay with him no matter where he goes and please, don't let him do something crazy."

"Hap, just do what Gem says," his former President ordered. "There ain't no time for explanations. Just stick close and contact me as soon as you catch up with him."

Without a word, Happy ran to his bike and those milling about stared in confused fascination as he also tore out of the parking lot, as Marlowe watched as well.

* * *

The one thing Jax Teller loved most about taking to the open road was the freedom it gave him. Concentrating solely on the ride, the peacefulness of his surroundings quieted all the noise in his head as he roared down the highway at high speeds.

These long runs to nowhere had helped Jax in the past when he needed to tackle a problem or issue with a clear head. Now, however, after having everything he had believed in proven to be a lie by his mother, the outlaw was bereft. No matter how hard he pushed his Dyna or how much over the speed limit he rode, Jax couldn't outrun the pain in his heart. Having struggled thus far to hold the pain caused by Tara's betrayal at bay, Jax pulled off at the next exit as it threatened to manifest itself physically. Pushing his bike probably faster than he ever had before, Jax headed to the Streams.

The Streams was the local moniker for a portion of Marsh Creek that ran through the wooded area just outside Charming proper. Bearing the name of the California pioneer John Marsh who built his home nearby in 1838, the creek started in Sacramento and flowed for nearly thirty miles before emptying into the San Joaquin River Delta. Slow moving, it was a popular hangout, especially during the summer months because of its sandy shores and relative seclusion.

Growing up, the Streams had been the back drop to many milestones in Jax's life. Not only had he experimented with pot there when he was twelve, but had been sexually initiated there on the eve of his fifteenth birthday by a freshman co-ed from the University of the Pacific in Stockton. The Streams had also born silent witness to Jax's grief when his little brother Tommy and, later, his father had died and when his mother had married Clay Morrow barely six months later.

Finally bringing his bike to a skidding stop, nearly laying it down in the process, Jax managed to keep it upright by bringing down the kickstand before he stumbled off. Throwing his helmet down and with the sound of another Harley approaching barely registering with his brain, Jax made it to the edge of the clear body of water, falling to his knees and violently expelling the contents of his stomach.

Keeping at a respectable distance, Happy pulled his ride to a stop near to where Jax had parked his. Slowly pulling off his bike glasses and helmet, Happy silently watched as his brother's body convulsed with his retching. His lips tightened thinly as his President listlessly sat down on the ground, his head bowed over his bent knees as the sun shone high in the sky over what appeared to be a broken man.

Jackson Teller was a tough son of a bitch. He had to be to run an outlaw MC the size of the Sons of Anarchy and Happy had long been one of many that knew the young man had the stones for the job. When the situation called for it, like when dealing with Viktor Putlova, Jax could be coldblooded and ruthless. Seeing him like this now, however, there was no doubt in the older biker's mind that whatever shit had punched Jax in the gut had to be personal in nature.

 _Jax's old lady_ , Happy thought with a grimace. _I bet that's the shit right there._

Happy Lowman had never had an old lady, but he knew from observation what made a good one and what didn't. The good ones, he'd noticed, weren't too much of a pain in the ass, even if they were needy bitches. That was just the nature of the beast when it came to pussy. The bad ones, however, usually had their old men either dreaming of eating a bullet or contemplating where would be the best place to dispose of a body.

Throughout the years, Happy had seen many old ladies come and go, but in his mind they all fell either into the Gemma Teller-Morrow category—a good biker bitch with the ability to shrink a man's balls with one hard stare—or they fell into the Colleen Trager category—a harpy gash who was just one whiny nag away from taking a dirt nap. The fact that Gemma had implored him to make sure that Jax didn't do anything foolish just confirmed to Happy that Jax's uppity old lady had somehow crossed the line and, as far as Happy was concerned, that bag of tricks was in a category all her own.

Sitting on his bike, Happy kept one eye on Jax as he gave his brother space and some time to get his shit together. Pulling out his prepay, he sent a quick text to Clay, letting him know where he and Jax were before shoving it back into the breast pocket of his kutte and prepared himself to wait patiently.

The last time Happy could remember seeing Jax in this bad a state had been when his son had been kidnapped. For almost three days, Jax had laid prostrate at the foot of his son's crib in a drunken and stoned stupor. He could see in his mind's eye as Opie had picked his brother up in his arms as if holding a child, taking him to the bathroom and stripping him of his clothes before putting him into the shower.

It had hurt to see his young brother in so much pain and it had taken many days before even a shadow of the Jax Teller he knew finally resurfaced. Once he had, however, his all-consuming need for vengeance had fueled him on his quest to find his son and Jax once again became the man his brothers knew. So whatever shit had just landed on his brother, Happy knew Jax had it within himself to come back from it. Always the thinker—like his father JT—Jax just needed a minute to pull himself together.

Nearly half-an-hour went by before Happy saw his President's figure stir. As Happy continued to keep silent watch over him, Jax slowly stood before crouching on his haunches at the edge of the stream. Using both hands, he scooped several handfuls of the cool, crisp water to splash over his face, the water running in rivulets down his hair and beard. Getting off his bike, Happy opened one of his saddlebags and grabbed a couple bottles of water.

Now standing fully erect, Jax was looking across the stream with his fists shoved into the pockets of his baggy jeans as Happy slowly approached him at the water's edge. Without a word, Happy handed him a bottle of water. Cracking open the seal, Jax took several long gulps before turning to Happy.

"Thanks," he said quietly, his voice faintly hoarse. "Let me guess—Ma sent you."

Happy looked into Jax's red-rimmed eyes and nodded. "Clay too," he replied evenly.

"They tell you why?" Jax watched as his SAA shook his head.

"Nah. I just figured they thought you needed a brother. All they said was to make sure you didn't lose your shit," Happy explained.

Jax nodded. Slowly, he walked over to a large outcropping of rocks and sat down on a large flat boulder, angling his head to the left indicating the empty spot next to him. Accepting the invitation, Happy joined him and cracked open his own bottle, taking a long pull before speaking.

"You gonna be a'ight, Pres?" he asked.

Jax hesitated as his mind searched for some words that would make some fuckin' sense and finally decided on, "Yeah. I'll live." He opened his water again and took another swig. "Hap, you ever deal with having someone close betray you?"

Happy focused his dark eyes on a pair of bleak blue eyes. "Not really, but at the time it felt like a betrayal," he replied, thinking of Marlowe.

"Did you forgive them?"

Happy scratched his bald head. It was obvious that his President was looking for some counsel, but damn it, he wasn't Bobby Elvis. He didn't have the words for shit like this, but the Sons were a brotherhood and you don't leave a brother hanging when he was in need of some direction. "Yeah, but I know now that her leaving had less to do with me and more to do with her living her life. Back then, though, I wasn't trying to hear that shit."

"You talkin' about Marlowe?" Jax smiled faintly.

Happy nodded. "I've known that little girl since she was eight. Practically raised the little shit along with Ma, so it really shouldn't come as a big surprise that she's as stubborn as I am," he said with what Jax noted was a hint of pride. "While others praised Marley for choosing to serve her country, I took her joining the Navy as an act of treason, a betrayal. That stubborn streak we share is the reason we didn't talk for ten years. I don't regret much—after all, it is what it is, but I do regret that. All that matters now is that she's back—not like she was before, but at least she's alive, and considering that the bitch has a taste for living dangerously, I say it's all good. It's not always easy, but with Marley I'm trying really hard not to sweat the small stuff."

Jax arched a blond eyebrow. "Small stuff, like me kissing her?" he asked, referring to the day the Clubhouse was attacked by Lobos Sonora.

Happy turned to face Jax with an arched eyebrow of his own. "Pres, I get the feeling you're dealing with some pretty heavy shit. You sure you wanna tackle discussing my little sis _right now_?"

Jax sighed heavily as he ran his hands over his face. "Tell you the truth, brother, the thought that women like Marlowe exist is probably the only thing keeping me from doing something stupid."

Happy rested his elbows on his knees, pretty damn sure he wasn't thrilled with the meaning behind those words. Nevertheless, he was there out loyalty to his brother and Club President, not to get into the shit over his sister. "You wanna tell me what happened?" he asked and watched as Jax pulled a pack of cigarettes and a Zippo from the pocket of his kutte. Drawing one for himself, he offered one to Happy and lit them both up. "You don't have to if you don't want to, but if you do, whatever you say travels no further."

Jax took several drags from his smoke before allowing himself to speak. "Tara didn't lose our baby," he started, his voice tight. "She had an abortion."

Happy's face did not waver, portraying neither emotion nor judgment as he looked into the cold angry eyes of his brother. Instead he said, "Wanna tell me more?"

For the next ten minutes, Jax coldly filled his SAA in on the details of how the woman that he had once adored since they were both sixteen had lied, betrayed and broken him. Again.

"Faithless bitches," Happy muttered. "I'm really sorry, bro," he said when Jax finally finished speaking. After a moment, he asked, "So what are you gonna do?"

Jax shook his head slowly. "I don't know. In less than ten minutes, my life took a sharp turn into shit. What I thought to be true isn't and I have so much anger and hate in me right now, I can't think straight. The thought that Tara was capable of doing something like that makes me sick to my stomach. Makes me doubt whether anything between us since her return was ever real."

"Like what, bro?"

Jax shook his head as he squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Where do I even fuckin' start, Hap?"

"At the beginning," Happy replied. "I've got nowhere I need to be 'cept right here, man."

Jax took a deep breath, the thought of saying out loud what he had suspected from the beginning burning a hole in his heart. "Tara left Charming over ten years ago and never looked back. She didn't even come to her father's funeral when he passed away. I come to find out that she left Chicago to get away from a stalker ex-boyfriend who followed her here. I asked her if she had come back to Charming because she knew I would protect her. She claimed she didn't even know I'd still be here. The ex continued stalking and threatening her, even tried to rape her and I ended up killing the son of a bitch," Jax confessed.

"Did you believe her when she said she didn't know you'd still be in Charming?" Happy had to ask, the thought that anyone would think that Jax Teller would be anywhere else just outright absurd.

"I wanted to," Jax replied. "No, I _did_ believe her, but as soon as the ex was out of the picture, she was talking about going back to Chicago. Those doubts started creeping back in, but she didn't leave then, she didn't leave after I fucked Ima, and she didn't leave while I was in Stockton, so those doubts got pushed to the side again."

"And now?"

Jax turned to the side and looked Happy in his almost pitch black eyes. "Shit hasn't been right between us since I got out of the joint. At first I thought it was the Cartel deal, but then she started talking about us leaving Charming and everything just went from bad to worse," he explained. "We grew apart, barely talking anymore and we sure as shit weren't having sex. We were done before today, I have no doubt about that, but this whole time I blamed myself for her unhappiness over a miscarriage that never fuckin' happened. She _lied_ to me. I know I wasn't a perfect old man, but even if the truth got me in the shit with Tara, I never strayed from it."

 _She never really loved me_ , Jax thought bitterly. _I made her feel safe and when I couldn't do that anymore, she wanted out_.

That was the realization that had slowly dawned on Jax as he sat in the dirt after puking his guts out. Having an abortion was Tara's way of severing all ties between them before she left him again. Instead, something had made her stay while he served his time on the federal gun charges and, quite frankly, Jax didn't give enough of a shit anymore to want to know why. After he was stabbed and nearly died in prison, Tara must have believed that she could finally convince him to leave Charming once he was paroled. When that didn't happen, she used the attack by Lobos Sonora as her "Get Out of Charming" card. But why pressure him into letting her take Abel with her?

 _Guilt? Remorse?_ Jax reasoned. _Or maybe just another way to hurt me_.

Whatever the reason, Jax knew Tara would have to thank her lucky stars if he didn't end up killing her first. Finding out that the woman he had once loved was a lying, manipulative bitch had been devastating enough. Separating him from his son again under false pretenses was punishable by death.

"Don't kick yourself too much over this, bro," Happy counseled. "This shit is all on her. Some bitches are just master manipulators. I've seen plenty of brothers brought to their fuckin' knees 'cause of some evil shit his old lady had done to him."

Jax grunted. "Yeah, but maybe instead of _Brains Before Bullets_ , my motto should have been 'brains before my fuckin' dick'," he said bitterly.

"Look, Jax, how you dealt with that bitch in the past ain't what's important," Happy responded. "It's how you deal with her now after the shit she's done to you that matters. If necessary, I can handle it for you, bro," his gravelly voice was low but heavy with meaning and Jax could read the subtext easily enough.

 _I could go there. I really think I could go there_ , Jax said to himself as he thought about the green-eyed, dark-haired baby girl that still haunted his dreams.

"Thanks, Hap," Jax started, standing up. Following suit, Happy stood as well and enveloped Jax in a back-slapping bro-hug. "I'm gonna handle this one," he said as they broke apart.

"No problem, Pres," Happy replied. "It's a standing offer."

Jax smirked as he dropped the butt of his cigarette and ground it out thoroughly before turning to head to his ride. "I need to hit the road solo for a while, clear my head," Jax said, straddling his ride as Happy looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "Shit's contained, bro, I promise. First, I'm gonna make a few calls and put a couple of bloodless plays in motion. Trust me, I've got this."


	28. Chapter 28

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sons of Anarchy. I do, however, own Marlowe and any other OCs that appear in the 2 Sons Universe.**

* * *

_**Tuesday, June 15, 2010** _

It was close to midnight when the SAMCRO President rode onto the T-M lot. His arrival was rather subdued when compared to his abrupt exit. Several hours earlier, he had left mechanics, clients, patches and croweaters standing around and doing very little to hide their astonishment as he hauled ass out of the lot. Being midweek, Jax noticed with gratitude that, unlike his departure, no one was around to witness his return.

After making an important phone call, Jax had turned off his prepay, wanting as little human contact as possible in order to clear his head. He rode his Harley for hours and before he knew it, he was almost halfway to South Lake Tahoe before deciding to turn back. On his journey to nowhere, Jax thought a lot about his son and what their life together would be like now. Going forward with the knowledge he had gained would prove to be a difficult hurdle, but the thought of the new possibilities that were now open for Jax went a long way in cooling his rage.

He may have calmed down significantly, but right now the last thing Jax wanted was anyone approaching him to ask questions. He knew that those questions and his answers would put him right back into the murderous head space he had spent an entire day trying to fight his way out of. If Gemma had not been the one to completely shatter his world by revealing Tara's ultimate act of betrayal, Jax knew he would not have hesitated in pulling his Glock and shooting the messenger. But despite knowing how much his mother had hated Tara in the past, the look of pain and utter devastation in her eyes as she revealed to him what she had learned had convinced Jax that she was telling him the truth. As close as the two most important women in his life had become since Gemma's rape, Jax knew that his mother was feeling the sting of betrayal as much as he was.

After all, Gemma was all about the family. Which was why, instead of letting Jax run off blind in an attempt to get as far away as possible to lick his wounds in private, Gemma had set Happy on his scent. By sending his SAA after him, Jax not only had someone he trusted watching his back who would keep him from doing something stupid, but he also had someone he could open up to. Sending his brother after him had been the right call to make because Mother Gemma knew her son well enough to know that he would never invite her into his personal anguish.

That's what he had his Club for.

Even though Happy Lowman had always been more inclined to keep his own counsel, he still managed to surprise Jax time and again by how much depth and knowledge he had regarding the human psyche. Those that didn't know Happy well were quick to judge him solely by his fearsome outer skin, and in most cases that would be the smartest play. But his brothers knew Happy well enough to know that those that chose to remain quiet usually had the most to say.

Talking shit out with Happy at the Streams had put the past two years in perspective for Jax. With his blinders regarding Tara now permanently ripped off, the truth had given him the strength to do what needed to be done in order to protect his family.

Parking his ride in his reserved spot with the overhead lights casting long shadows on the blacktop, Jax thought about the decision he had made concerning his son's future. After making just one phone call at the Streams, he and Happy made their way back to Charming in order to meet Gemma at his house. Jax had just gotten off his bike as Gemma pulled up in her SUV. Quickly getting out of her car, even though she strode up the walkway with confidence, Jax could see her concern and deep love for him pouring out of her eyes. Clasping her hands in his gloved ones, Jax had gently kissed them both before pulling her into a hug. Wrapping her arms around him and squeezing him tightly in return was Gemma's way of letting her son know that she was one woman that would always have his back without fail.

Without going into much detail and his voice devoid of overt emotion, Jax had explained to Gemma what he needed her to do. For probably the first time in his recent memory, the Club's matriarch didn't voice any disagreement or try to convince him to do otherwise. She simply nodded and proceeded to carry out his plans just like a good old lady would.

After giving his SAA one last bro hug and a direct order to head back to the Clubhouse, Jax had gone on his long ride alone. Many hours on the road had cleared his head and knowing exactly what he desperately needed, he had returned to Charming to seek some comfort. The garage had long since been closed for the night, the only indication that there were people on site being the half-dozen bikes parked in their customary row, as well as a number of cars on the far side of the lot. Sitting on his bike, Jax focused his eyes on the parked cages, looking for one in particular. He felt his tense shoulders relax when he spotted the dark gray Impala.

 _Good,_ he thought as he got off his ride.

The shit that was about to happen had been a long time in the making, and Jax Teller no longer had a reason to continue denying himself what he really wanted.

* * *

Marlowe turned off her old and dilapidated hairdryer and placed it on the table as she ran her long fingers through her freshly-washed and now-dry hair. With not one electrical socket to be found in her dorm's meager bathroom, Marlowe was sitting at the makeshift desk where she would usually dry her hair after taking a shower. Perched on the edge of her chair wearing nothing but a damp towel wrapped around her torso, she picked up her watch that lay next to her prepay and noted the time.

"Damn," she muttered.

Tossing her watch onto the table, she got up and headed towards the small chest of drawers. Dropping her towel, she grabbed a threadbare Navy t-shirt and a pair of thong underwear. Slipping them on, she headed to her bathroom to hang up the damp towel and brush her teeth.

It was approaching one in the morning and, as usual, she was nowhere near sleepy. During the last five years, sleep or the lack of it had become the bane of Marlowe's existence. Not only was it elusive, but when it finally did come, it was usually plagued by the horrors of war she had witnessed as they made their way back into her dreams.

Never sure what would trigger an episode of PTSD, the fear of having to relive the worst of her experiences as a combat medic had robbed Marlowe of the ability to enjoy a good night's sleep. Instead, she had grown accustomed to puttering around until she literally passed out from exhaustion. Even then, it was usually a fitful sleep that lasted no more than a couple of hours at a time.

The exception to the rule, however, had been the night of her last nightmarish episode. Exhausted after working non-stop caring for the wounded of the Lobos Sonora showdown, Marlowe barely remembered falling asleep after taking a shower. All she could vaguely recall was finding herself caught in a horrific dream world she couldn't escape from, only to be rescued by a knight in gleaming leather. After piecing the details together, Marlowe was stunned to realize that she had slept nearly ten hours straight that night—all while wrapped in the warm embrace of Jax Teller.

Unfortunately, that had been the first and last good night's sleep she had been able to enjoy in a long time. With the Club preparing for a meeting between what Happy referred to as the Irish and the Mexicans, Marlowe had not seen, much less spoken to, Jax since then. In order to keep her mind off of her "unfinished business" with the SAMCRO President, she had fallen into her regular routine once again, making sure to keep busy and active during her long days.

As usual, it had been one of those long and active days for Marlowe. After her early morning run, she had driven to Modesto to meet Ceci for breakfast before dropping her off at the rehab center. Now that she was on summer break from her job teaching high school in Bakersfield, Ceci had temporarily relocated to NorCal to be close to her sister, giving Marlowe more free time.

Returning to Charming, Marlowe had spent part of the late morning visiting Kozik at St. Thomas. It gave her great hope for his full recovery seeing the blond biker in his ever-present jovial mood, cracking jokes and making Marlowe laugh as he grilled her on Club gossip. Too bad the commotion at T-M had happened _after_ her return from St. Thomas or she would have been able to give Kozik the third degree about it. Seeing bikers come and go for weeks now, she knew that the sight of Jax Teller pealing tires on his Harley as he ripped out of the parking lot was really nothing out of the ordinary. Watching his parents running after him before Happy jumped on his bike and hauled ass off after him _was_.

Marlowe had watched as Jax got on his bike, barely stopping to put on his helmet, noting that whatever had happened had obviously upset the outlaw. Knowing that he had a young son that had been born with a heart condition, she hoped that nothing was wrong with the little boy. But judging by the look on his face—more anger bordering on rage than parental anguish and concern—a sudden thought popped into her mind and Marlowe couldn't help but wonder if maybe there was trouble brewing with his old lady. Fortunately, Marlowe had not spotted the pinched-face doctor around the Clubhouse since their last confrontation well over a week ago.

Making a point of staying on the lot for the rest of the day, Marlowe probably would have skipped eating dinner if Filthy Phil hadn't volunteered to pick her up something from Hanna's. Disappointingly, hanging around had been a wasted effort as Jax had not returned to the lot. Happy had, however.

 _But the SOB had been as tight-lipped as ever_ , Marlowe thought as she spit out the toothpaste and rinsed her mouth out for the third and final time.

At about six o'clock that evening, Happy had finally reappeared, strolling into the Clubhouse like nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Marlowe watched as he made a beeline to his brothers, noting how he pointedly avoided making eye contact with her. Instead, he inserted himself into a boisterous game of pool with Chibs and Bobby as a couple of croweaters practically clung to him.

As far as she could tell, no one was inclined to bring up the subject of the Mad King, almost as if they knew that Happy would shut them down. Sensing she had very little to gain by way of information on what had spurred Jax to hightail it like a bat out of hell by sticking around, Marlowe got up from her customary spot on the couch. Deciding it was time to call it a night, she had headed for her dorm without so much as a sideways glance at Happy.

Finally finished with her nightly ministrations, Marlowe turned off the bathroom light and, closing the door behind her, headed to her bed. Propped up against the wooden headboard, she settled herself on top and grabbed her newly-purchased tablet from the nightstand. Even though Marlowe wasn't big on accumulating material possessions, now that she was earning with the Club she had decided to splurge on her first modern electronic device. It had been a bit pricey, but Juice had highly recommended it and it was already proving to be a great investment. She had spent much of her time on the lot today downloading a number of free books from a number of websites. An avid reader, especially on her many sleepless nights, now she wouldn't have to haul around a ton of books that usually outnumbered the items of clothing she owned.

Making a mental note to take Gemma's well-meaning advice to heart and look into expanding her wardrobe, Marlowe used the Kindle App to pull up a guilty pleasure of hers in the form of the latest bodice-ripping historical romance she had tagged for her bedtime reading. Fully immersed in the seduction of Lady Brenna by her captor Garrick the Viking King, the sound of a key being used to open her door barely registered. She suddenly froze, however, when she heard the distinct sound of barrel clicking as the lock opened. Thinking she had seen the doorknob turn, she quickly sat up in her bed. A look of amazement and a little bit of anger mixed with relief crossed her features as the door opened and revealed Jax Teller.

Stepping inside, he closed the door behind him.

* * *

Silently, they stared at each other for a long time, Marlowe's gray eyes muddled by surprise and a little bit of confusion and Jax's darkened by pain and need. He was looking at her with hungry eyes, Marlowe realized as she felt a shiver run down her spine and her nipples tighten. She wanted to open her mouth and ask him if everything was all right, but she didn't. Something in the way he was looking at her told Marlowe that was the reason he was standing in her room, hoping that she would offer to make everything all right for him this time around.

Not breaking eye contact, Marlowe placed her tablet on the nightstand, and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Slowly standing up, her rumpled t-shirt slid down her body as she quietly made her way to him. Coming to a stop, she stepped into his personal space, so close that she could feel the heat emanating from his body.

Standing in front of him, Marlowe reached out and gently tucked a loose lock of golden hair behind his ear. Jax closed his eyes as he burrowed his cheek into the palm of her hand and inhaled the sweet scent of roses that clung to her skin. A hint of a smile played on his lips as he felt her other hand rest on his chest, over his President patch, and he opened his eyes.

Lifting his head to look her in the eyes, Jax almost whispered, "I'm sorry."

Marlowe's brow furrowed delicately. "What for?"

Jax gave her a slight half-smile as he replied hesitantly, "I'm pretty sure I promised I wouldn't invade your privacy again after the last time I let myself into your room."

"Yeah, you did," Marlowe replied quickly and for a moment, Jax was afraid she was going to ask him to leave. "Considering the circumstances at the time, however, I think it's safe to say I forgave you for that," she whispered back.

"Will you forgive me this time?" he asked softly.

"That all depends, Jackson," she replied, addressing him by his given name for the first time. Instead of sounding like he was being reprimanded, his name on her lips sounded like a caress. "Why are you here?" Marlowe's gray eyes burned into his as she waited for his answer. Seconds seemed to stretch like minutes and minutes into hours before he finally replied.

After the life-changing day he'd had, Jax knew what he wanted—what he _needed_ —but he also knew that he couldn't take being turned away by her again. Not tonight.

Reaching out with his right hand, Jax gently cupped her face. "I need you, Marlowe," he said hoarsely as his thumb gently stroked her cheek.

Looking into his sad blue eyes, dark with sorrow and physical need, Marlowe knew what she had to do, which was send him on his way and back to his family. As strongly as she felt about Jax Teller, Marlowe wasn't keen on starting something with him that had the potential of leaving her with a broken heart. Although she didn't care at all for Tara Knowles, Marlowe wasn't looking to play third wheel in Jax's relationship with her. What she _had_ to do, however, was wholly different from what she _wanted_ to do and, choosing to ignore her pride and conscience if only for just one night, Marlowe finally gave in to her own wants and needs.

Reaching up, she gently caressed his bearded cheeks. Cupping his handsome face, Marlowe pulled Jax towards her. Instantly, his strong and powerful arms coiled around her slender figure, pulling her flush against him as their mouths tenderly and gently sought each other out. They kissed, taking their time as they familiarized themselves with one another's scent and taste, knowing they had all night to exorcise their personal demons wrapped in each other's arms.

Balling her hands in his hair, Marlowe let out a breathy sigh in between kisses as Jax slowly lifted her t-shirt from behind. Exposing her bare bottom thanks to the thong she wore, he dug his fingers into the firm flesh as he kneaded her cheeks. Jax winced, almost as if in pain, when Marlowe pulled herself from their kiss. Before he could protest, her pillowy lips trailed down his neck, peppering him with kisses before her hot and moist tongue flicked over the thick vein throbbing on the left side of his throat. Jax closed his eyes, her soft suckling of his jugular making his cock twitch violently in his pants as he caressed her naked back underneath her t-shirt.

Pulling back to look him in his half-hooded eyes, Marlowe let her hands trail under his kutte, over his rock hard chest and onto his broad shoulders in order to gently nudge him out of his leather. Removing his holster and Glock as he watched her hang his kutte on the back of the desk chair with great care, Jax dropped both onto the desk before swiftly removing the navy blue SAMCRO t-shirt he wore.

As Marlowe turned to face him again, Jax saw the light dim in her beautiful gray eyes as her brow furrowed once again. "What is it, darlin'?"

Biting her lip, Marlowe shook her head slightly as she reached out to gently skim her fingers over the chest tattoo of his son's name. Jax frowned, sensing that he knew where her head was at. She was wrong, however, because he was no longer the man she had first met and felt morally obligated to keep at arm's length. He resolved that he would make this fact abundantly clear to her later because now wasn't the time for talk. It was time for him to take action and bring their flirty dance around each other to its natural conclusion.

Gently grabbing her hand, Jax pulled Marlowe towards him and kissed her again, harder and longer this time as she melted against his body. She inhaled his manly scent as his tongue slipped through her parted lips, reveling in the way he felt and tasted in her mouth as he tilted his head to deepen their kiss. Feeling her knees grow weak from her sudden and wanton need for this man, Marlowe propped herself against the desk as Jax continued pressing into her.

He kissed her deeper and slower as his hands slid up her sides, bringing her t-shirt with them. Pulling away, Jax whispered, "Off."

Feeling uncharacteristically compliant, Marlowe obeyed and lifted her arms, allowing Jax to pull it up and over her head. Her eyes drifted closed and she bit into her bottom lip to keep herself from moaning as Jax dropped his head and nuzzled her neck. She involuntarily shivered as he slipped a hand between her breasts and slowly moved his thumb over a taut nipple. With her breath catching in her throat, Jax started sucking a bruise on the delicate skin of her long neck. Bringing her hands into his hair, she clutched him to her as he used his denim-clad knee to spread her legs apart, allowing him to move his hips against her slowly.

"Mmmmm, Jax," Marlowe's voice was breathy and hot against his ear, forcing him to growl as he continued working her neck with his mouth. She remembered how much she had wanted him the night they had planned to hook up at The Hairy Dog. She had been hot and horny for him then. That, however, was nothing compared to how much she wanted him now. This time she was engulfed by an achy and heady desire, a need for this man to fill the void inside she had been living with for a long time now.

Perching her behind on the desk, Marlowe arched her back and brought her long legs up to wrap around his thighs. She felt all of her desire for him pooling at her core as she started breathing erratically. Sliding his hands underneath her, Jax gripped the tight little round bubble she had for an ass as he bent his head, his lips brushing one nipple and then the other before sucking it into his mouth. Still half-dressed, Jax thrust against her as he pulled her towards him, needing more and more contact with her supple, yet strong body. Feeling him grow as hard as marble against her throbbing pussy, Marlowe bit her tongue in an effort to keep herself from begging him to take her right then and there, hard and fast.

Marlowe, however, couldn't stop herself from telling him how much she wanted him. "I need you too, Jax," she started but stopped as he whipped his head up and looked deep into her eyes. Licking lips suddenly gone dry, she continued, "I want you inside me."

Jax flashed her a cocky grin as he lifted her off the desk. "Hey, I'm all about the service, darlin'."

The man was full of swagger, the kind that made Marlowe want him just a little more every time he aimed that killer smile at her. _Christ Almighty, he's so beautiful_ , she thought. _I'm so screwed._

Marlowe wrapped her legs tighter around him, returning his fervent kisses as he walked over to the bed. Jax dropped her gently onto the mattress and Marlowe propped herself up on her elbows to watch him undress. Kicking off his white sneakers, he unbuttoned his jeans and slid them down, bending over to remove his socks.

"Holy shit," Marlowe groaned as he pulled the elastic of his boxers over his erection, a truly impressive sight against a bed of downy soft and golden pubic hair, before letting them fall to the floor.

Jax's smile was a sexy smirk as he watched Marlowe climb onto her knees on the bed. "You're not half-bad yourself, darlin'," he replied, his eyes taking in every inch of her gorgeously lean body. Wearing nothing but her thong, Jax loved the fact that her beautifully round and perky tits were slightly larger than he had previously expected, a fact that Marlowe was accustomed to concealing by wearing sports bras.

Stepping up to the bed, Jax placed a hand on her slender waist, the other in her tousled caramel-colored hair. "You're so beautiful, Doc," he said softly, his eyes searching her face before tilting his head to the side as Marlowe leaned in and kissed him. Tugging on his bottom lip with her teeth, Marlowe forced a low, throaty groan from Jax as she reached between them and wrapped her hand around his length. He hissed as she stroked him long and slow.

Suddenly stopping, Marlowe pulled away and looked into his half-hooded eyes. "We need protection, outlaw."

Jax dragged a hand through his hair, pulling at it in frustration. "Fuuuck! I forgot," he admitted and arched an eyebrow as Marlowe chuckled. "I could probably jackhammer through a concrete wall right now and you think it's funny, don'tcha?"

Marlowe shook her head as she bit her lip. "No, not funny, but I do like that you weren't presumptuous enough to show up here with a pocketful of condoms."

"Oh yeah, smartass?" Jax smiled, leaning in to kiss her mouth softly. "Right now, I'm wishing I had been thinking like an arrogant prick. I'm not looking forward to making that awkward trip down the hall to my dorm pointing at everything, you know."

"Maybe you won't point at everything if you put some pants on," Marlowe chuckled again.

"I don't know, darlin'. I can try, but once my pistol is cocked, it's kinda hard getting it back in the holster," Jax teased with a wink. Taking a step back to retrieve his jeans, he stopped as Marlowe grabbed his arm and shook her head.

"I guess we're lucky we're in a Clubhouse full of horny bikers then," she said as she leaned on the bed and reached for the nightstand drawer. Opening it, Marlowe pulled out a long streamer made of gold foil packets. "I'm guessing they belonged to the room's last occupant."

"Yeah, right, babe," Jax smiled. "Think we have enough?"

Marlowe shrugged her shoulders. "Maybe, but they're not Magnums," she said, dropping a knowing glance at his dick standing at attention between them. "I guess we can make do."

Jax grabbed one of the foil packets with a smirk. "Trust me, we'll make it work."

Plopping herself down on the bed, Marlowe watched as Jax wasted no time in getting the condom on. Climbing onto the bed, he slowly dragged a gentle hand over the soft skin of her legs and up to her thighs before looping a finger around the waistband of her thong. With a smile curling her lips, Marlowe raised her hips slightly off the bed to accommodate Jax as he slid her underwear down.

After dropping her thong on the floor next to the bed, Jax let his hand continue its trek and leisurely explored her body. His fingers skimmed over the sensitive flesh that covered her tight abs and over her navel until his thumb brushed the meticulously trimmed strip of sandy hair on her mound. Marlowe's breath hitched as Jax suddenly moved over her. Claiming her mouth again, he gently pushed her down onto the bed. Kissing her deeply, he teasingly brushed his cock against her inner thigh and her legs seemingly parted of their own volition. Silently accepting the invitation, Jax nestled himself between her welcoming thighs.

With her hands caressing his back, shoulders and finally his face, Marlowe was intent on returning his kisses. Gasping abruptly, however, she fell back onto the pillows, her back arching as Jax teased her throbbing clit, stroking it with the head of his dick. Her eyes drifted closed as she concentrated on the incredible sensation, almost coming as Jax bent his head to suck gently on her nipples.

"Oh God," Marlowe heard herself whimper, her hands gripping the bed sheets, her orgasm building as Jax moved quicker along her clit.

"Open your eyes, darlin'," Jax coaxed, pecking her lips lightly. Breathing short ragged breaths, Marlowe shook her head, her eyes shut tight and a pink blush staining her cheeks. Jax smiled at her tenderly, then stopped moving.

Marlowe's eyes flew open. "Why did you stop? I was so close—"

"I know," he started moving against her sensitive nub again. "I want you looking at me when you come, baby."

Marlowe gave him the stink eye for about a nanosecond before a gasp tore from her lips again. This time, however, she kept her eyes locked on his as she felt the warmth pool in her belly before she shattered. "Oh my God! Oh God!" she almost screamed at the top of her lungs, her short blunt fingernails digging into Jax's back. "Fuck! Jax, oh my God!" Still riding the wave of her orgasm, Marlowe cried out again as, without warning, Jax pushed himself inside her.

Jax growled, her wet, warm and tight pussy gripping and convulsing around his cock. With one hand holding her from the back of the neck and the other grabbing onto the headboard, he started thrusting. Slowly pulling out and thrusting back in hard, Jax did this over and over, dropping deeper and deeper inside her until Marlowe swore she could feel him touching her womb.

Bringing his mouth to hers, Jax kissed her hard and deep, taking both of their breaths away. With her legs up high around his lean waist, Jax thrust a little harder just to hear her moan deliciously underneath him.

To Jax, it seemed as if he had been living in anticipation of this moment since first laying eyes on the beautiful, but strange young woman sitting at the bar reading a book. The more he and Tara had pulled away from each other, the more drawn he felt to Marlowe. In hindsight, he was glad she had put the brakes on them getting together before now. Believing there was a reason they had crossed paths, it came as no surprise to Jax how natural it felt being with Marlowe like this. Now done with Tara and her manipulations, Jax was ready to move on with his life in Charming as SAMCRO's President.

And a part of him wanted Marlowe to be the one he shared that with.

After a while of moving together as one, caressing and whispering sweet nothings to each other, Jax suddenly repositioned himself on his knees. Holding her open by the backs of her knees, Jax pressed her down into the mattress, allowing him to set a slower pace as he pounded himself deeper, drilling every possible inch of his cock into her pussy. Marlowe held onto his powerful forearms, their eyes still locked, and braced herself because now they were fucking, _hard_. She could feel him swell inside her, his balls tightening as they slapped against her ass.

"Oh God, Jax," Marlowe said, breathing heavily. It was incredible, feeling him stuffing her to capacity. "You feel so fucking good, baby. Please don't stop." She was so unbelievably close, but shit! She never wanted it to end. Unable to hold herself back, however, Marlowe exploded, crying out his name.

"Fuck, Marley!" Jax ground out, struggling to keep the same slow pace as she tightened around him again. He could feel her juices coating his dick and dripping down his balls as her orgasm started to subside.

Bringing himself over her once again, his arms braced on either side of her on the bed, Jax picked up speed and rammed himself faster, going deeper with each thrust. Grunting, Jax buried his head into the crook of her neck, holding back and letting his orgasm build higher and higher. As they clung to each other, Jax grabbed Marlowe's ass, lifting it off the bed and bringing her into closer contact with him. Biting into her shoulder to keep himself from crying out, Jax finally let himself come in violent spurts, moaning incoherently.

Except for the sound of the pair trying to catch their breaths, the room was silent as they held each other a moment longer. Pulling back, Jax smiled down at Marlowe. With wild, sweaty hair, half-closed eyes, and lips swollen from his brutal kisses, she looked thoroughly and awesomely fucked. She was gorgeous.

Sliding onto his side on the bed, Jax pulled Marlowe with him as they managed to slip under the sheets. Settling down on his back, Jax cradled Marlowe against his chest. "You feel so good against me like this," he murmured into her hair, remembering the first night they had shared this same bed.

Marlowe swallowed the lump in her throat. "Yeah, I do," she agreed, knowing there was nowhere else in the world she'd rather be.

And it scared the living shit out of her.


	29. Chapter 29

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sons of Anarchy. I do, however, own Marlowe and any other OCs that appear in the 2 Sons Universe.**

* * *

_**Wednesday, June 16, 2010** _

Tears were threatening to fall again, but Tara fought them back. Throughout the years, she had become quite adept at keeping her emotions at bay. As a surgeon who specialized working on the most critical of pediatric cases, stoicism was most definitely a job requirement. Besides, crying was a sign of weakness, or at least that was what her father had been fond of telling her whenever he went on one of his drunken tirades.

Valiantly swallowing the lump in her throat, Tara slammed her foot on the gas pedal, accelerating her Nissan to fifteen miles over the speed limit posted for residential areas. The faster she drove, the faster she'd get to the lot.

And to Jax.

"It's going to be okay," Tara counseled herself as she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the rear view mirror. "There's no need to panic. Jax _loves_ me. Always has, always will. I can fix this."

Yesterday had been a typically busy day for the neonatal surgeon. With rounds to make and several consultations with anxious parents before and after two scheduled back-to-back surgeries, Tara barely had time to grab a bite to eat, let alone check her phone for messages. Complicating matters, as she was wrapping up for the day, Dr. Namid had called on her to assist on an emergency surgery to repair the heart of a newborn who, like Abel, had been born with congenital heart disease.

If she had only made the time to return calls, Tara would have finally spoken to the more than slightly hysterical Margaret Murphy, giving herself at least a twelve-hour head start to redirect the huge pile of shit that was about to land on her. Hindsight was most definitely 20/20, Tara realized bitterly, and at this point, of no fucking use to her whatsoever, except in terms of damage control.

Tara angrily pounded her fist against the steering wheel. If only Margaret had not been such a clingy, needy harpy all the damn time, instead of blowing her off she might have taken a break to talk to her. Tara had figured that Margaret was probably using some minor administrative bullshit regarding the paperwork for her transfer to Oregon as an excuse to hover around her. Whatever Margaret's reason for calling, Tara had been sure she could wait to deal with it the next day.

_How fucking wrong was I!_

It was going on seven o'clock the night before when Tara finally left the hospital. Stopping by her office just long enough to retrieve her briefcase and handbag, she had been in a hurry to get home to relieve Elyda. It wasn't until she pulled into the driveway of the empty house that she discovered that there had been no reason to rush home after all.

Tossing her bags down on the leather sofa and wondering where her family was, Tara had reluctantly picked up the phone to call Gemma. She could hear Abel's childish babbling in the background as the matriarch answered the call.

Gemma had been brief and noncommittal, but now, looking back on the slightly stilted conversation, Tara realized that signs that something was wrong had all been there. Instead, she had shrugged off the preemptory tone when Gemma advised her that Jax had asked her to take Abel for the night. Apparently, according to Gemma, he wanted to spend some alone time with his old lady. As much as she loved Abel, Tara had been too grateful for the reprieve to question the slight edge in Gemma's voice.

Instead, she perfunctorily thanked the old lady before hanging up. Going into the kitchen, Tara retrieved the half-empty bottle of chardonnay from the fridge and poured herself a large glass before heading off to take a long, relaxing shower. Tara had occupied her mind while cleaning up dreaming of reasons that could have prompted Jax to want alone time. After all, for the last few weeks, their relationship had been running on fumes and fading fast.

Realizing that her cold shoulder was accomplishing nothing, Tara had finally seen a light at the end of the tunnel after learning of the attack on the Clubhouse as SAMCRO found itself caught in the middle of a war between two rival Cartels. Taking advantage of that situation, Tara had pressed Jax to get his family out of Charming during this dangerous and turbulent time.

Manipulating Jax to see it from her perspective had been easy. Unlike most women who used sex to control their men, all Tara had to do was shed some very well-timed tears to get Jax to consider letting her relocate to Oregon with Abel. Although he had yet to agree, Tara knew any hope of getting Jax to leave Charming and SAMCRO depended on having Abel with her in Oregon. After all he had gone through to get his son back, she knew Jax would never countenance being separated from Abel for a long period of time. As much as she cared for Jax's son, Tara wasn't above using him as a bargaining chip.

As she massaged shampoo into her hair, Tara grew increasingly confident that Jax wanted to discuss the details of her move. Going a step further in her wish-fulfillment fantasy, she was hopeful that maybe Jax had finally seen the futility of trying to save the Club and wanted to discuss _their_ exit strategy.

 _Maybe Jax has finally come to terms with the fact that the only thing he can change is his life_ , Tara had reasoned with herself _. That damned Club just isn't worth saving anymore._

Drying herself off, Tara searched through her dresser drawer for some forgotten piece of lingerie in an effort to make herself feel sexy. Gemma's warning was still ringing in her ears and at this point in the game she was willing to concede that the old lady _might_ have a point. This was the perfect opportunity to give in and satisfy Jax sexually before he started sniffing around elsewhere. Tara knew her old man well and knew that he was probably climbing the walls of the Clubhouse by now. Giving him what he wanted—what _all_ men wanted—would go a long way in proving that she was still committed to making things work with them. If she played her cards right and submitted to his every desire, she might be able to convince Jax that he was better off leaving the Club behind and coming with her to Oregon. They could start fresh without SAMCRO and the violence that came with it.

 _And without Gemma_.

But her old man never showed. Tara had lain in their bed wide awake for hours before sleep had finally claimed her. The next morning, turning over to see that Jax's side of the bed had not been slept in had her disgruntled. Lately, it was not unusual for Jax to spend the night at the Clubhouse, but the fact that he had not come home the night before—of all nights—had her stomach tied up in knots, an unreasonable fear that hope for a reconciliation was fading fast plaguing her.

That fear was only compounded further when the door bell rang. Opening the front door, Tara found herself looking at two Prospects standing on her doorstep toting several boxes and moving supplies. The one called Ratboy advised her that he and V-Lin had been sent by Jax to help her pack for Oregon. With her gut telling her something wasn't right, she was in the process of sending them away until she spoke to Jax when the house phone rang.

As she went to answer it, the Prospects ignored Tara's edict. Making their way into the house, they headed straight for the master bedroom before she could stop them. Picking up the phone, her heart nearly turned into a block of ice as she heard Margaret's anxious voice. As the woman started to relate in explicit detail her run-in with Gemma Teller-Morrow, Tara blindly grasped for one of the kitchen chairs, her body collapsing into it like a sack of wet laundry, her sudden fear threatening to morph into sheer panic.

_Jax knows about the abortion!_

It had taken Tara a while to calm Margaret down. The older woman was convinced that the Club was going to kill her, claiming that the bruises Gemma had left on her neck were all she needed to confirm her worst fears.

"I only reached out to you so that you wouldn't be blindsided," Margaret had said tearfully. "If I tell anyone else what happened, that biker whore threatened me with her Club. I'm sorry that I told her about the abortion, but I had no idea that she didn't know."

 _Maybe you would have_ , Tara thought bitterly, _if you had a lick of sense in that half-fried brain of yours._

Tara barely paid attention to the rest of Margaret's rambled apologies as the Prospects made their way through _her_ house, collecting whatever they figured belonged to her and packing it away. Her mind was racing as she tried to come up with a way to smooth over the monumental clusterfuck Margaret had set in motion. If Gemma knew about the abortion, then it was almost a certainty that Jax knew about it too. She was sure that Gemma had been unable to contain herself, finally having something tangible to hold over her head. It pissed Tara off to no end knowing that nothing she had ever done for her or SAMCRO carried any weight with the Queen. Gemma had always been and would forever be Team Jax.

After telling Margaret she was taking a personal day and hanging up the phone, Tara kicked the Prospects out of the house and headed to her bedroom to dress.

 _I can fix this_ , Tara thought to herself, as she headed for her car. _I know Jax Teller. He may be angry, but I know this man. I can make him understand about the abortion. He loves me and I'm not going to lose him. Not to Gemma. Not to anyone._

Now as she pulled into the T-M lot, Tara readied herself for what she knew would be an epic battle for Jackson Teller's heart, body and soul.

 _Winner takes all, and I'm not losing_.

* * *

Ignoring the stack of paperwork on her desk, Gemma sat back in her chair and stretched her long legs out to rest her feet clad in five-inch designer sandals on top of her desk. Cigarette in hand, the old lady had a grim smile on her face as she contemplated the latest family drama to unfold.

Over the more than forty years of the Club's existence, Gemma had seen a lot of shit happen in the MC, both club and family-related, but had never experienced anything like what had gone down in the Chapel the day before. Having to tell her son that his old lady had betrayed him in probably the cruelest and most coldhearted way possible had nearly shattered Gemma to pieces. Her heart had physically ached for her Jackson and she had feared not only for her son's freedom but for his sanity as well as he tore out of the lot, sure that he was going after Tara.

Not that Gemma had any love left for the bitch.

As a matter of fact, it was now painfully obvious how right she had been about Tara Knowles all along. Gemma had picked up on Tara's damsel-in-distress complex the moment the teenager had set foot on the lot. Instead of making her stronger, growing up without a mother and alone in a house with a violent drunk for a father had taught Tara to manipulate with self-pity. Jax had either been too soft-hearted or too horny a teenager to know when he was being played. That was true when he was sixteen and, unfortunately for Gemma's never-to-be-born grandchild, it was true now.

Tara had never been cut out for the outlaw life and she certainly wasn't proper old lady material. But as much as she deserved to be tied to the back of Jax's bike and dragged until she was a bruised, bloody and broken heap, it was the last thing her son needed to do. As fierce an outlaw as Gemma knew him to be, it would destroy Jax if he ever laid a hand on Tara in anger, no matter how much she deserved a healthy dose of outlaw justice. It would only end up damaging him further, and learning of his old lady's manipulative betrayal had caused enough damage already.

After taking off the way he had, Gemma had not expected to hear directly from Jax again until he had worked his shit out. Having sent Happy to watch his back, Gemma had resolved to be all right with that, so she had been more than a little surprised (and relieved) when Jax had called, asking her to meet him at his place in order to pick up Abel. Aside from the message she was to pass along to Tara, Jax had said little else.

After following her back to her house and making sure that his son was settled in, Jax had taken off. Gemma knew he would probably spend some time on the road getting his shit together. But she also knew her son well enough to know that he would waste no time in taking other steps that would take the pain away. Namely, she had come across reliable Intel that indicated that her son had _not_ spent the night in his dorm and that he had not spent it alone.

Gemma smirked as she recalled grilling the ginormous Prospect who, with the horn-rimmed glasses he wore on occasion, managed to see and hear all manner of interesting shit, but getting him to speak it was like pulling teeth from a grizzly bear. Granted, Filthy Phil was getting a little less green and a lot more savvier when it came to having his brothers' backs, but until he earned his top rocker there wasn't much that happened in the Clubhouse that a Prospect would be privy to that Gemma wouldn't know about as well.

Arriving at the lot early in the morning, Gemma had seen Jax's bike parked in its usual spot and headed straight for the Clubhouse. Finding the Prospect in his usual spot behind the bar, she had wasted no time in pressing him hard as to where she could find her son. Phil had no choice but to awkwardly mumble that the SAMCRO President was with the Club medic in her dorm, and that he had been there _all night._

 _Hot Damn! You can't keep a good man's dick down,_ Gemma thought with glee _._

The best way to get over old pussy was new pussy, and who better than the pussy that had so recently shut him down. As for the new pussy, Gemma wasn't worried about Marlowe. There weren't many women strong enough to resist her son, especially when he flashed that panty-dropping smile of his, and the fact that Marlowe had done just that the first time around showed that she was a strong-willed bitch. Since she had obviously had a change of heart towards the SAMCRO President and knowing a bit of the young woman's history, Gemma figured Marlowe could take care of herself when it came to grappling with the likes of Jax Teller. She had certainly proved that she could handle her shit in her service to the Club, so it was safe to assume that she wouldn't need sheltering or protection from a randy outlaw biker.

 _Although she might need some time to recuperate after letting Jax hit her shit_ , Gemma smirked to herself.

Learning about this hook up did a lot to ease Gemma's mind concerning her son's mental state. Even though seeking out pussy as a way to comfort himself was Jax's standard operating procedure, there was a Clubhouse full of croweaters eager to take care of that particular piece of business. This time, however, Jax had sought solace from a woman he already had a connection to. There was no doubt in Gemma's mind that Jax had not only taken a liking to Marlowe Guthrie, but he admired her as well. And Gemma had to believe that even a horny one-percenter like Jax would know enough than to toy with the affections of a woman taught to kill by the United States Marine Corps. No, this time around, Gemma truly believed that with Marlowe in the picture, Jax would finally get Dr. Tara Knowles out of his system once and for all.

_And if she has any sense, Dr. Baby Killer will stay the hell away from me. I'm no forgiver of weak ass females._

Lost in her musings, Gemma's eyebrows shot up into her hairline as the closed door to the office was thrown open, bringing in the heat of the morning summer sun to reveal the icy figure of Tara Knowles.

 _Nope_ , Gemma thought as she casually stubbed out her cigarette in the overflowing ashtray on her desk. _The bitch ain't too bright at all_.

* * *

"Well, shit," Gemma drawled as she brought her feet down from the desk to cross one leg over her knee. "Either I underestimated the amount of balls you possess or I overestimated your smarts, Dr. Knowles. Truth be told, I didn't think you had it in ya to ever walk onto this lot again."

Tara's lips trembled slightly before they tightened into a thin, angry line. "I'm guessing I have you to thank for the welcoming committee outside. That big mountain in a Prospect kutte wouldn't let me in," she said referring to Filthy Phil who, at Gemma's instruction, had stationed himself outside the Clubhouse door. "I'm not here to get into some shit with you, Gemma. Jax never came home last night and I'm here to see my old man."

"Well, that's where shit gets complicated, Tara." Gemma stood up to make her point. "See, according to Jax, your services are no longer required, so don't quote me on this, but I'm thinking you don't _have_ an old man anymore." She watched as the temper flared in the woman's green eyes.

And the fear.

"I don't know what you told Jax, but you don't know what you think you know—" Tara started.

"Oh, I know all of it, sweetheart." Crossing her arms over her chest, the SAMCRO matriarch continued with an arched eyebrow, "I _know_ that you murdered my unborn grandchild, and I _know_ that you led my son and everyone who loves him to believe that you had miscarried. And I _know_ that you let my son blame himself, making him feel responsible for the death of his own child because of the life he lives," she said quietly. "What kind of woman does that to the man she _claims_ to love?"

"I don't have to explain myself to you," Tara replied brusquely. "The only person I owe an explanation to is Jax and I know that once we talk, he'll understand—" she said, stopping abruptly as Gemma started chuckling hard enough to force her back into her office chair.

"Ah, shit," Gemma wiped the tears of laughter from the corner of her eyes. "That statement alone tells me that you don't know Jax Teller as well as you _think_ you do."

"You're wrong. I know him like you _never_ will, Gemma, and that just kills you," Tara said in a challenging tone.

"You may have known the boy you left behind over ten years ago, but you have no clue about the man he has grown into," Gemma started and paused to light up another cigarette. "My son loves deep. He _hates deeper_. You need to pull your head out of your ass and let yourself see just exactly where it is that you stand with him now. Family and loyalty mean something around here and you _betrayed_ him. You may have tricked out some fantasy in your head that you can somehow smooth shit out with Jax, but you need to face reality, darlin'. He will _never_ forgive you; he will _never_ take you back; and you will _never_ seeAbel again."

In spite of the look of pure hatred she was aiming at Gemma, Tara couldn't keep the tears of frustration and fear from streaming down her face. "You're wrong," she said through clenched teeth. "What Jax and I have is bigger than you. Bigger than SAMCRO! We've loved each other since we were teenagers. If time and distance couldn't break what we have, you sure as hell won't!"

Gemma stormed towards Tara, her hand holding the cigarette gesturing just inches from her face. "I haven't broken shit between you and Jax!" she spit out emotionally. "We may have had a rocky start when you first returned to Charming, but we got over our shit and for the past two years, I have been your biggest supporter. Even in Ireland, when Jax had all but written you off, I was the one that straightened him out, like I told you I would! I _told_ you not to do anything stupid! I _told_ you to wait until we came back with Abel before you made a move there would be no coming back from. I _told_ you that you needed to be the constant in your man's life, especially when things go sideways and he needs to get his shit together."

Tara was shaking her head. "Jax knows he pushed me to a place where I felt like I had no choice. He pushed me away!"

"Did he force you to lie about it too?" Gemma asked sarcastically. "Pathetic! You couldn't tell him the truth when he returned with Abel because you knew you would lose him. Instead, you looked him in the eyes and told him you had lost the baby. You betrayed his trust, Tara. He knows the truth now and he knows he didn't hear from you. How do you expect to come back from that?"

"We love each other," Tara repeated adamantly, even though Gemma could see her hands shake slightly at her side.

"Sweetheart, betrayal only cuts the deepest when it comes from the one you love," Gemma said as if speaking to a small child. "Unfortunately for Jax, it has taken something like this to make him realize that you never belonged in his life in the first place. Once you left, you should have stayed gone."

"No," Tara shook her head, her voice low and despairing. "We belong together. We're soul mates."

Gemma grimaced, her face twisted by disgust. "What you are is obsessed with the idea of making something work that should have died a natural death when you first left Charming. You couldn't own up to what you had done because you knew Jax would have been the one to walk away this time. You couldn't let that happen, so you let him believe that it was all his fault, hanging on to him the only way you could, through guilt. That's not love," Gemma spit out, shaking her head.

"You're wrong," Tara moistened her lips. "He's mine and always will be. We'll get through this _together_."

 _Bitch is delusional. Has she even heard a fuckin' word I've said_ , Gemma wondered absently.

"Really?" Gemma derided. "Well, shit, maybe you do know Jax Teller better than _anyone_ else, huh? I tell you what, go on inside and see him." She picked up the phone on her desk. "I'll call Phil and tell him to let you in." Quickly thinking it over, Gemma suddenly hung up the phone. "As a matter of fact, _I'll_ take you to your _soul mate_ myself." Walking past Tara and out of the office, Gemma smirked as the young woman followed after her. "But I should warn you. He might be just a little _preoccupied_ ," she absently threw over her shoulder.

* * *

Snuggled down in the warmth of Jax Teller's body, Marlowe lay on her side. Over the course of the last six or seven hours, she had lost count of the number of times just holding each other like this had turned into another lovemaking session. Quietly, Marlowe winced to herself as feelings of guilt overwhelmed her, knowing she had no right to call what they had engaged in as "lovemaking".

 _It's just sex, pure and simple_ , she had tried to convince herself each and every time they'd finished, ending up in a hot and sweaty tangle of bodies and curled up in each other's arms once again.

Not having felt a similar connection to a man since she had been diagnosed with PTSD, it had been incredibly difficult to put a halt to any hopes of she and Jax ever getting to know each other like this. As attracted as she had been to the rough but dangerously handsome man from the first time they had exchanged words, playing third wheel in an existing relationship just wasn't her style, especially not one that involved a child.

But as she had gazed at the outlaw biker the night before, who without invitation had invaded her personal space, Marlowe knew she couldn't turn her back on him no matter what the consequences were. Although she had no clue what had made the rage she had seen Jax display the day before turn into the kind of sadness that had made him seek her out for comfort, Marlowe had resolved to deal with that shit in the morning. Her main priority last night had been giving him what he wanted—in all honesty, what they had both been wanting from each other since their eyes first met over the gleaming bar of the Clubhouse so many weeks ago.

Now it _was_ tomorrow and with the light of day had come all the recriminations she had known to expect but hadn't given a shit about. Lying with Jax spooning her, his arms wrapped around her and a heavy leg over hers, pinning her to the mattress, Marlowe couldn't help but think about the glorious night of passion they had shared.

 _It's a fuckin' cliché, but how can something be so wrong, yet feel so right?_ Marlowe thought, sighing out loud.

"You sound like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders, Doc," Jax said sleepily as he nuzzled the back of her neck through her hair.

Turning her head, Marlowe looked up into Jax's sleep-filled clear blue bedroom eyes.

 _Not the world, handsome. Just my conscience_ , she thought but didn't say out loud.

"I thought bikers were the hit it and quit it types," she started with half a smile. Pulling her limbs out from underneath his, Marlowe twisted around on the small bed until she faced Jax completely. "I sure as shit didn't expect to wake up this morning with you in my bed, outlaw."

"I wasn't expecting to either, babe," Jax smiled lazily, "but I know I sure as hell wanted to." He pushed several strands of hair away from her face before cupping her cheek.

Marlowe searched his face, his blond hair a tousled, sexy mess. "What are we doing here, Jax?" she asked quietly.

Jax flashed her a cheesy grin. "Basking in the afterglow," he teased as Marlowe shook her head, fighting the slight smile tugging at her mouth.

"I'm serious—"

"I am too, darlin'," Jax interrupted, the playful glint in his eyes replaced by fierce determination. "Last night was amazing—"

"Yes, it was," Marlowe agreed, "and I never doubted that it would be, Jax, but we had agreed that last night couldn't happen."

"Yeah, we did, but shit happens, Marley," he replied forcefully. "Haven't you ever woken up one morning believing life is one way and that it will _always_ be that way, but by the end of the day you realize it's not and can never be that way again?"

"Of course I have. I don't know what's going on with you, but I get what you're saying because I've been there," Marlowe replied sincerely. "But the fact remains that I feel like a piece of shit for sleeping with another woman's man. That's not what I do and that's _not_ what I want getting around the Clubhouse."

"Then you have nothing to worry about, darlin'," Jax assured her. "You slept with me, not another woman's man." As Marlowe's brows wrinkled in confusion, Jax figured he should just come out and say it. "Tara and I are done."

 _Holy shit!_ It took every ounce of self-control in her possession to keep from jumping up and doing a dance all over the small bed.

Tamping down her relief and excitement, Marlowe pursed her lips. "Wow, that came out of nowhere. I guess with one-half of the Gossip Girls laid up in the hospital it makes sense that I'd be the last to know about your change in status."

Jax shook his head. "Not the last, babe. You're the first."

Marlowe's head snapped back. "First? You mean first in the Clubhouse. First after Tara, right?" she asked, her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

Jax's jaw clenched, somehow knowing she wasn't going to like his answer, but he also had the feeling that lying would get him permanently banned from her bed. "No, I haven't spoken to Tara, but after yesterday I'm sure she knows what's coming."

Pulling herself away from Jax and into a sitting position, Marlowe covered herself by tucking the bed sheet under her arms and leaned against the headboard.

"Jax, I'm not some naïve skank with stars in her eyes. You have no obligation to me whatsoever," Marlowe started brusquely, crossing her arms over her chest, "so please don't play me like I'm the other woman, ready to believe her lover every time he tells her he's leaving his wife."

Pulling himself upright as well, Jax looked into her eyes. "That's not what this is about, Marlowe, and that's not what I'm doing," he replied earnestly. "I learned some shit yesterday that shut the door on me and Tara. What happened between you and me last night has nothing to do with that. I just didn't have anything holding me back anymore."

Marlowe looked at him for a long time. "This shit that 'shut the door' on your relationship with your old lady," Marlowe started, "did it have anything to do with why you stormed off the lot yesterday?"

Jax held her gaze and realized that, once again, honesty was the best policy. "Yeah, something like that," he replied. "But I don't want to talk about it, darlin'. I need to make some shit right first."

Marlowe was hearing what he was saying and although he sounded sincere, she couldn't help the unreasonable anger she felt stir within. "Let me get this straight. You don't want to talk about it, but I'm just supposed to believe that I'm not some home-wrecking whore even though you haven't broken up with your old lady yet, is that right?"

"That's right," Jax started, but as Marlowe opened her mouth to protest, he captured her lips with his in a tender kiss. Barely pulling away, he continued, "I'm just not ready to talk about it _now_. I need some time to quiet the noise in my head and being with you like this is doing that for me, babe. She may not know it yet, but my relationship with Tara is over. I'm taking care of that today and after I do, I need to get a handle on my shit. Please don't lock me out again while I take the time to do that, a'ight?"

Marlowe shook her head slightly. "What does that mean, Jax? I mean, you're a good man and I like you very, _very_ much," she said quietly, "but what does us hooking up look like to the Club? Are they going to start seeing me as a pass-around or rebound pussy? I've earned a measure of respect with the boys and I don't want to lose it like that."

"No one would ever call you a pass-around or rebound pussy, Marley," Jax assured her.

Marlowe let out a mirthless chuckle. "Maybe not to my face," she replied adamantly.

"No one would ever DARE call you that, PERIOD," he reiterated vehemently. "First, that's not what you are, I promise. And second, if I don't rip their tongue out, I know Happy will."

Marlowe suddenly slapped her forehead a little harder than she had intended to. "Shit, Jax! I forgot about Hap. He wasn't too thrilled about us kissing. He's gonna go ape-shit."

Jax shrugged one shoulder. "Then he goes ape-shit. I understand he's your brother and all, but the last time I checked, you're every inch a grown woman," he smiled seductively. "Trust me, babe, I was _very_ thorough and performed several _examinations_."

"I know and I enjoyed every minute," Marlowe smiled back prettily as Jax chuckled. "And you're right. I can handle Hap."

"Good," Jax yanked the covers away from Marlowe and pulled her towards him. "Because right now, I need you to handle me some more."

Marlowe moved to her knees and poised herself to straddle his lap. She knew he was trying to distract her from whatever misgivings she was still entertaining even as her pebbled nipples brushed against his bare chest. But here she was again, not caring about the consequences once Jax put his hands or his lips anywhere on her body. Moving close to kiss him slowly, she flicked her hips back and forth, her wet slit sliding over his hardening cock.

"I am such a weak bitch, Jax," Marlowe murmured as their breath shortened together.

Nipping at her lips, Jax pulled away from their kiss to look her in her heather gray eyes. "Weak is not a word that would ever describe you, Doc," he almost whispered. "I'm just _that_ good," he added with a cocky grin.

 _Shit, can't really argue with him there_ , Marlowe thought as she let her arms coil around his neck.

"I want you, Jax," she said softly, trying to convince herself that she meant only at the moment. Somehow, Marlowe knew that being with Jax Teller would complicate her life. Was it possible to have a man like him without all the drama?

 _Don't count on it_ , the small voice of reason in the back of her mind replied.

 _So what?_ her heart countered. _Drama is just another word for challenging and when have you ever walked away from a challenge?_

 _Never_ , Marlowe smiled to herself as Jax cupped her ass tightly.

"Fuck!" he groaned as he lifted her hips and penetrated her slowly, causing her to shiver violently against him. She was so fucking tight and felt so damn good, she fit him like a glove. Cupping a breast, Jax gently tugged at the nipple with his teeth. Moaning, Marlowe pulled his face up to hers and kissed him deeply as Jax gripped her hips and thrust upwards several times before she started moving with him.

"Oh God, Jax," she breathed against his lips, their foreheads touching as they moved together in a rhythm that was all their own. Biting into her bottom lip, Jax sucked it gently into his mouth as Marlowe gave in to the pleasure. She came just before he did, crying out and tightening around him as he captured her mouth in a long kiss. Jax thrust one more time into her pulsing body and came with a groan, their tongues slowly tangling as they stilled together.

"Shit, outlaw," Marlowe wheezed softly as the heat of her orgasm reverberated through her body. "My pussy hasn't seen this much action in a long time."

"You complaining?" Jax asked as he flopped onto his back, bringing her down with him to lie on his chest.

"Nope. I just forgot how much fun she can be," she replied with a smirk and could feel and hear the rumble of Jax's laughter through his chest.

"No worries, Doc. I have no plans of letting you forget again anytime soon," he smiled as he pulled Marlowe up for a kiss.

"Oh, really?" she asked cheekily.

Jax nodded, his face a mask of seriousness. "Just between us, I think my dick's in deep 'cause yours is the only pussy he intends on getting to know really, _really_ well."

" _In deep?_ Really?" Marlowe laughed. "You sure have a way with words, don't you, outlaw?" she asked as she ran her fingers through his sweat-damp hair.

"Yeah, that didn't come out right, did it?" Jax smiled as he tenderly rubbed Marlowe's naked back. "But you know what I mean."

"I do," Marlowe rested her chin gently on Jax's chest as she looked into his eyes. Opening her mouth to continue, she snapped it shut as her stomach grumbled loudly.

Jax chuckled. "That was _you_?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

Marlowe bit her lip before replying sheepishly, "Yeah, I don't know about you, Pres, but I'm starving."

Turning on his side so that Marlowe fell back onto the bed, Jax said, "Give me a minute, darlin', and I'll go on hunter/gatherer detail." Cradling her face, he kissed her softly and lazily. Lost in each other again, they scarcely heard the knocking on her door.

Marlowe was the first to pull back. "Somebody knocking?"

"No," Jax started just as the knocking started again. "Ignore it," he said, nuzzling her neck as his hand trailed down to the rising peak of her right breast. "They'll get the hint and go away."

However, the knocking not only continued, but grew in its persistence. Finally Marlowe had enough. "SHIT!" she growled as she pushed Jax away from her and tugged herself out of his grasp to climb out of bed. "Next time, hang a sock on the door, will ya?" she started, but quickly forgot what she was about to do as Jax flipped onto his back. With the bed sheets tangled around his long legs, his hair was wild and free and his handsome face a mask of pure, unadulterated sensuality.

 _Damn, he's so fuckin' hot,_ she thought, noting what an awesome sketch the visual he was presenting would make. _A beautiful and golden Adonis with a dick as big as his ego_ , Marlowe smirked.

Telling herself to snap the fuck out of it as the knocking started again, she grabbed Jax's SAMCRO t-shirt from where he had tossed it the night before and shrugged it on before making her way to the door. The thought briefly crossed her mind that she might find Happy standing on the other side, but shrugged it off.

_How shitty can my luck possibly be?_

Unlocking the door, she pulled it open about half a foot wide and found out just how shitty it was indeed. Standing there she found not her brother, but the mother of the man who had laid some glorious pipe all night long. And she wasn't alone.

 _Holy fuckin' shit_ , Marlowe thought as she met a pair of angry dark green eyes belonging to Tara Knowles _._

Without having to look in a mirror, Marlowe knew she looked like a woman that had been thoroughly fucked sideways. It certainly wouldn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what she had been up to just before opening the door. But let it not be said that the former Corpsman didn't have a poker face as her expression remained one of nonchalance bordering on boredom.

"Can I help you? I'm a little busy at the moment," she addressed Gemma, who was sporting a huge grin.

"Yeah, I kinda figured you would be," Gemma drawled. "Sorry to interrupt, but I have an old lady here who's looking for her _soul mate_." Her brown eyes twinkled as she eyed the Club's medic.

 _I cannot believe Gemma would bring this mess to my door! Who is she trying to get killed, me or the doctor bitch_?

Before Marlowe could respond, she and the door she had propped against her hip were abruptly shoved to the side as Tara pushed herself past Gemma, the momentum propelling her through the door and into the room. Skidding to a stop, Tara's hands rose to her mouth as she was confronted by the very naked form of her old man lying comfortably in Marlowe Guthrie's bed.

The room fell deadly quiet and standing off to the side, Marlowe ran her hand through her disheveled hair as she watched the duel of emotions playing out on the faces of the couple. Tara's pinched face, Marlowe noted, looked devastated with rage and pain. Still somewhat flushed from his recent orgasm, Jax's face had morphed from a man smug with sexual satisfaction to a hard, blank and angry mask.

 _Damn,_ Marlowe thought as she eyed the coldly resolute man lying unabashedly naked, dick still wet from sex with another woman as he stared his old lady down. _I would hate to get on Jax Teller's bad side._

Entranced by the wordless exchange, it was only Marlowe's training that alerted her to the danger she was in and had but a brief moment's notice to throw her left arm up to block Tara's right fist.

"You stupid WHORE!" Tara screamed, but catching her arm, Marlowe painfully twisted it behind her back as she slammed her fist across Tara's mouth. Barely paying attention to the blood spurting from the split lip, Marlowe followed it up with a hard punch to Tara's groin. A bit of an overkill, yes, but something Marlowe had been dying to do since the stuck up doctor had labeled her a croweater.

Gasping for breath as the last blow reverberated throughout her lower limbs, Tara doubled over and fell to her knees like a sack of potatoes. Marlowe tossed an angry look at the unmoving form of the man in her bed. Shit like this was what she had wanted to avoid all along.

Pointing to Tara's prostrate figure, she practically growled, "I'm gonna go grab something to eat while you take care of your shit." Giving Gemma a brief nod of respect, Marlowe excused herself as she went to walk past the older woman.

"No worries, sweetheart," Gemma replied, holding the door open. "As a matter of fact, let me make you some breakfast," she offered, waiting for Marlowe to precede her before closing the door and following her down the hall.


	30. Chapter 30

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sons of Anarchy. I do, however, own Marlowe and any other OCs that appear in the 2 Sons Universe.**

* * *

_**Wednesday, June 16, 2010** _

Marlowe was sitting at one of the tables in the main room sipping on a mug of hot, black coffee that Gemma had shoved into her hand before heading into the kitchen. She hadn't taken the old lady seriously about her offer to make her breakfast, but Marlowe heard her stomach growl in anticipation as the smell of bacon made its way to her nostrils.

"Well damn," Marlowe drawled as Gemma strutted out of the Clubhouse kitchen with a plate in one hand and the coffee carafe in the other. Setting the plate of scrambled eggs and bacon in front of Marlowe, Gemma proceeded to refill her half-empty mug. "I have to say, having the mother of the man I spent the night having sex with make me breakfast is a new experience for me." Picking up her fork, Marlowe dug into her plate as the SAMCRO matriarch flashed her a grin.

"Well, I'm sure you were probably expecting breakfast in bed, but this isn't so bad, is it?" Gemma asked as Marlowe gave her a look full of snark before chomping into some extra crispy bacon. Grabbing a mug from the bar top, Gemma poured herself some coffee before joining Marlowe at the table. "I take it from that look that my timing was off," she kidded.

"Uh, yeah, it was. Jax was about to get us some food because this girl needs her strength if she's going to tangle with a horny outlaw biker," Marlowe replied and just to get Gemma back for escorting Tara right to her bedroom door, she added, "Then I was hoping to get some more head from your son because damn! That pretty mouth of his ain't just for show, you know?"

Gemma put her mug down and stared at Marlowe. "Uh, actually I don't. See, some in this town might consider us to be nothing but inbred white trash, but even we aren't _that_ close, honey," she deadpanned before the two women erupted with laughter.

Stabbing a forkful of eggs, Marlowe waited for their chuckles to subside before speaking again. "It's a little quiet back there, huh? For some reason, I had the impression that Tara was a real screamer, a harpy."

"She most definitely can be," Gemma agreed. "I think that shit might be pretty hard to pull off with a fat lip though."

Marlowe shrugged her shoulders and, putting down her coffee, went to work again on her bacon and eggs.

Other than the two women—and the tense couple they had left behind in Marlowe's dorm—there were no other bodies in the Clubhouse, which Marlowe was grateful for considering all she had covering her naked ass was Jax's t-shirt. Not that she was at all uncomfortable with her naked body. After all, the military wasn't exactly for the faint at heart or the self-conscious, especially since communal showers were the norm since basic training. However, it was something else altogether for Marlowe to feel vulnerable and exposed in front of Jax Teller's mother, especially when the older woman was dressed to the nines. Wearing a tightly fitted v-neck blouse, skinny jeans and heels, with her face flawlessly made up, Gemma was the picture of biker babe hotness, while Marlowe felt—and more than likely looked—like a messy and sweaty sex-funky heap.

Finishing her breakfast, Marlowe shoved aside her plate and gave Gemma the stink eye. "That was pretty low, you know, bringing Tara right to my fuckin' door. You couldn't give a girl a heads up?"

"What for? I figured you could handle yourself and I wasn't disappointed. You did what I've been wanting to do from the moment I heard what that bitch had done—" Gemma started conversationally, but caught herself, snapping her mouth shut. "Damn, I've got a runaway tongue today."

Marlowe propped her chin in her hands, resting her elbows on the table. "Shit, you were about to spill the beans on what the hell is going on around here, weren't you? Why did you stop?"

"Look," Gemma started coyly. "Nothing personal, sweetheart, but—"

Marlowe put her hand up. "Hey, you don't owe me any explanations, Gemma. You're very much like Happy's mom. Personal family business stays in the family and is not to be discussed with 'outsiders'. I get that," she replied with understanding and was surprised by the old lady's reply.

"You're not an outsider, Doc," Gemma said quietly. "You're just not quite in the inner circle, that's all. Let's just say that some history came to light and it's such that things are pretty much done between my son and the doctor bitch."

Marlowe nodded solemnly, but kept her thoughts to herself. From their discussion earlier and judging from Jax's reaction to Tara, it was clear to her that whatever had gone down between them had been serious. Serious enough that Jax had no fucks to give over the fact that his newest bed partner had just beat the shit out of his old lady.

_Or, maybe that's '_ _ former _ _old lady'._

"Yeah, I kind of got that from Jax."

Gemma's eyebrows rose at that comment, not expecting that her son would be so open with someone she considered just pussy. But just as Gemma had just said herself, Marlowe wasn't an outsider. Would it be so far fetched to gather that she wasn't "just pussy" either? Gemma decided to file that possibility away for further consideration later.

"Anything else Jax felt like sharing last night?" she pressed nonchalantly and watched as Marlowe crossed her arms and eyed her sardonically.

"I know we don't know each other very well, Gemma, but there's not much I'm shy about sharing. Like, for instance, if you want to know about the sex, I can paint you a pretty vivid picture right down to how big a dick he's rocking," Marlowe said with sincerity, much to Gemma's dismay. "But I do draw the line at sharing pillow talk. Nothing personal."

 _A woman who knows how to keep her own counsel_ , Gemma grinned inwardly. _Smart bitch._

"Um, I think I'll pass, but thanks anyway," Gemma started as she glanced at her wristwatch. "Oh, shit. It's getting late and soon the Clubhouse will be crawling with patches looking for food. I'm thinking that maybe you don't want anyone seeing—or smelling you in that get up." She watched as the faintest trace of pink spread over Marlowe's cheeks as her nose twitched slightly to sniff the air around her.

"You implying I smell like a cum dumpster?'

"No, not at all," Gemma smiled. "You just smell like my son," she shot back and watched the delicate pink turn into a full blown blush.

 _Holy shit! I just made a seasoned sailor blush_ , Gemma chuckled to herself, the thought that there was definitely something more than just sex going on between Jax and the Club's medic at the forefront of her mind.

Gemma stood up and walked over to Juice's security station. Digging around in one of the drawers, she pulled out a spare set of keys. "Follow me," she beckoned Marlowe as she headed towards the dorms. "You can shower in Jax's room and maybe find something a little more fresh to change into. And may I suggest that you hunker down in there until Hurricane Tara blows over?"

* * *

Unlike less than an hour ago, Marlowe's dorm was almost as quiet as a tomb, the only sound being the muffled sobs coming from somewhere on the floor.

Jax moved just barely enough to reach for the sheets to cover his privates before positioning himself against the headboard. Now, he could see as well as hear Tara sobbing hysterically. Instead of empathy, however, Jax squeezed his eyes shut against the blind fury the sound of her crying roused in him. In the past, knowing that anything he had done or had somehow been responsible for had made her cry was enough to send him into a tailspin.

Now that same sound was falling on deaf, angry ears.

In fact, giving Tara a wide berth to comfort and calm _her own self_ down, Jax closed his eyes to relive the moment Marlowe had been provoked into opening a can of whup-ass.

In Jax's mind, hitting a woman was as low as a man could go. He had certainly been tempted to over the years, having even crossed that particularly nasty line with Ima once. He still hated himself for it, but had reasoned it away because he had done it for Tara and their family. In hindsight, however, Jax found it tragically ironic that apparently his family, _his unborn child_ , had needed protection from his old lady instead. After learning what Tara had done, Jax had deliberately stayed away from his own home, seeking solace and comfort from Marlowe out of fear that he would give in to his need to choke the ever-loving shit out of Tara. Even though Marlowe would have preferred better timing for their first time together, Jax knew he had made the right choice. Spending the night with the woman he had been aching for sure beat the hell out of having to make arrangements with Skeeter about burning another body.

Although she had flashed him with a murderous look on her way out and he would more than likely catch hell from her later, Jax loved the fact that he had been given the chance to live vicariously through Marlowe. He had known Tara to be quite the grappler back in the day, so he should have expected her to take a swing at Doc. Knowing her military training background, Jax should have also seen Marlowe's quick response coming.

He hadn't. And neither had Tara.

From his perch on the bed, it was clear that Marlowe knew how to hit like a man. The blocking and the blow across the face she may have picked up in the Navy and from her training with the Marines, but that groin punch, that shit had Happy written all over it. Seeing Marlowe's instincts kick into action once again had not only been hot as fuck, it had done much in the way of relieving the bit of violence that had been simmering inside him since yesterday. Now, with just a thin sheet covering the fact that he was as naked as the day he had been born, the SAMCRO President coolly contemplated what he wanted to say to the woman he had once loved and had been sure he couldn't live without.

After all, they would more than likely be the last words he would ever say to her.

"Get up off the floor, Tara," he said quietly and with amazingly little rancor.

He had to repeat his request several times before she heard him over her own sobbing. Finally, untangling her legs, Tara first got onto her knees and then to her feet. In her time on the floor, she had somehow managed to smear blood from her swollen and split lip across her cheek, probably in an effort to keep the trail from dripping onto the sexy blouse she wore with dark wash jeans.

Unmoved, Jax grimly watched as she stumbled over to the chair that was sitting underneath the small desk and held his kutte. Pulling it out, Tara sat down and helped herself to a wad of Kleenex from the box sitting in front of the small mirror. He watched in silence as she gently wiped away the blood, sniffing and shuddering with the aftershocks of her emotional breakdown as she tried to repair the damage to her face while getting herself under control. Finally tossing the handful of used tissues on the desk, Tara turned to face him.

"How long, Jax?" she asked, her voice small and full of hurt. "How long have you been fucking that whore?"

Jax shook his head slightly. "Don't call her that," he said with soft authority and then fell silent again, staring at her blankly.

Tara glared at him incredulously. "ANSWER ME, DAMN IT!" she yelled after the silence had become unbearable. "How long have you been sleeping with _that woman?_ "

Pushing his fast-growing hair back, Jax sighed impatiently. "Why are you here, Tara?"

Realizing that was Jax's subtle way of telling her that his medic-slash-whore wasn't up for discussion, Tara emitted a frustrated growl as her hands clenched into fists in her lap. Taking a deep breath, she brushed away errant tears. "Isn't it obvious, Jax?" she asked with some hesitation and a little anger. "I'm here because I want to salvage what we have. I love you so—"

"Stop!" Jax barked gruffly. "You would have been better off saving yourself the gasoline it took to get you here because there's nothing to salvage."

"Why? Because you've already moved on with—with _her_?" Tara spit out bitterly.

"This shit is between _you_ and me, Tara, so leave Marlowe out of it," Jax ordered, his tone leaving no room for contradiction. "But yeah, after wasting over ten fuckin' years, I'm finally ready to move on. Without you."

"Without even hearing my side of this?" Tara cried, her face a blotchy and twisted mask of pain and fury.

Jax pulled out a cigarette from the pack sitting on the nightstand and lit up. "I don't remember being asked my side of shit before you decided to kill _our_ baby," he said coolly, blowing out a trail of smoke.

Tara tensed. She knew it was coming. Of course, it was coming, so she told herself to relax and quietly slipped into her professional demeanor of clinical indifference. "It was never a baby, Jax," she started by way of explanation. "It was a fetus."

"IT WAS A BABY TO ME!" He yelled suddenly and Tara nearly jumped out of the chair from the shock and force of it. "Is that what you told Kohn because I'm willing to bet his was a baby to him too? Or did you forget telling me about that?! How you had aborted Kohn's kid before leaving Chicago and coming back to Charming? Was that your plan, Tara? Were you gonna skip out on me after killing our baby like you did Kohn?"

Trembling, she met his eyes and for the first time really saw who Jax Teller was. His eyes, now a pale blue, were cold and almost lifeless as he stared her down with barely under control rage making his whole body tense. Nowhere could she see the look of pure love and adoration he had always reserved just for her and in a panic, Tara started to fear that maybe his bitch of a mother had been right after all.

"No," Tara shook her head miserably, speaking mostly to herself in denial of what she knew was the truth; she _had_ lost him.

" _No?_ " Jax asked incredulously. "Trying to convince me that I was somehow special isn't gonna work, Tara, not this time. Not after you treated me no better than the fiend that stalked you, that I killed to protect you from," he said angrily. "That's it, isn't it? I suspected it before, but I know now that I was just a means to an end for you. After Kohn was no longer an issue, after you felt safe, you were ready to leave me again. You were all set on going back to your ordinary life in Chicago, knowing that your broken-hearted dragon slayer was back in Charming, miserable and probably willing to wait another ten fuckin' years for you to come back. Do you really think I want to salvage anything from _that_?"

"Jax—"

"NO!" Jax said forcefully. "Don't, a'ight? You lied to me, Tara, for months and I don't think I can take one more lie coming outta your mouth right now. I can see how this shit played out in my mind's eye and I'm sorry if getting kidnapped by Salazar threw a wrench in that plan, but you could have left after I got sent to Stockton."

"It wasn't like that, Jax," Tara pleaded. "I know you'll believe me if you just let me explain."

Jax shook his head. "I know all I need to know. For whatever reason, you've wanted out for some time now. All you had to do was talk to me, Tara, but the truth is those reasons don't matter anymore because now I want out too. I'm done."

Tara moistened her lips and ran a trembling and blood-smeared hand through her hair as the enormity of what she had done finally became clear. Jax was ending their relationship. "No, Jax. You don't mean that. What about Abel? He was supposed to come with me," she whispered. "What about my son?"

" _My son_ is staying in Charming. He's already survived a junky birth mother, being kidnapped, and having an ex-con outlaw for a father. He'll survive not having you around either. There are plenty of people right here in Charming that love him and in another year, he'll forget you ever existed. We all will," Jax replied, coldly watching the tears well up once again in her eyes and once again he felt nothing. "Abel will be staying at Gemma's while the Prospects help you pack. I want you and your shit out of my house and back at your dad's by the end of the day or I'll throw it all out onto the fuckin' street myself."

Still naked, Jax got out of bed and walked to where he had discarded his clothes the night before. As if he were alone in the room, he casually put on his boxers, jeans and sneakers before walking over to where Tara sat. Shrinking back into her chair, she flinched with fear causing Jax to look at her with exasperation and disgust as if he had ever or would ever lay a hand on her.

Reaching behind Tara to grab his kutte and holster, Jax addressed her for the last time. "Go to Oregon, Dr. Knowles. Start a brand new plain vanilla life with a plain vanilla man. Have plain vanilla sex and make yourself some plain vanilla kids. It's what you want. It's what you _deserve_ ," Jax advised bitterly. "I'm giving you the out you wanted, so take it and run because you get only one. No one who has ever betrayed me or the Club has ever been given that privilege. Don't make me regret it. You come back again, try to reconnect with Abel or I get a whiff of trouble with your name on it, this outlaw won't have any mercy left to show."

Taking a step for the door, Jax stopped and ran his hand over the hair on his chin. Looking down at Tara, his ice blue eyes cold and unfeeling, he smirked. "And in case you're wondering if yours is still the face I see when I'm inside a woman," Jax started cruelly before shaking his head. "It wasn't last night while I was balls deep in Marlowe."

Turning away as Tara buried her face in her hands and started sobbing again, Jax Teller walked out of the dorm and closed the door behind him.

* * *

Fresh out of the shower, Marlowe was sitting cross-legged on Jax's bed wearing one of his clean oversized t-shirts. She was towel drying her hair when the door opened to reveal the handsome blond biker, bare-chested and holding his kutte and gun in one hand. She could tell that he was surprised but happy to find her there as the tension on his face softened and he smiled.

"Hope you don't mind, but your mom thought it would be a good idea if I cleaned myself up in here while you were," Marlowe paused, "wrapping things up in my dorm." She watched as he nodded wryly before shutting the door behind him.

Crossing over to her, Jax laid his leather and holster on the bed and sat down next to her. Taking her right hand in his, he examined her knuckles, rubbing his thumb over them lightly. "Not even a scratch."

"Nah, I don't bruise easily," she replied quietly. "About that, Jax. I—"

"You have my gratitude, darlin'," he said softly before doing the unexpected and raised her hand to his mouth to kiss it lightly. Even more unexpected, Marlowe felt her heart skip a beat. "Seeing you take care of business like that was pretty fuckin' hot. It also kept me from breaking a promise I made to myself to never lay a hand on a woman in anger. Thank you."

Marlowe gave him a small smile. "I would say 'my pleasure', but I was actually hoping to avoid that kind of confrontation, you know?"

Jax, she noted, was still holding onto her hand. "I know and I'm sorry it went down like that. What I'm not sorry about is what happened between us last night and I hope you're not either, Doc," he said, and Marlowe could see the expectation in his bright blue eyes.

"Honestly," Marlowe interlaced her long fingers with Jax's and squeezed his hand gently, her eyes downcast. "My only regret is that you hadn't ended things with Tara first."

Jax nodded with understanding. "That's totally on me, darlin', but I never said I was a patient man," he smiled as Marlowe rolled her eyes. "I know this probably won't make a difference, Marley, but shit ended with me and Tara even before I left the lot yesterday," he explained. For Jax, it had ended the first night he had spent with Marlowe, comforting her through an episode of PTSD.

Still holding his hand, Marlowe looked up into Jax's eyes. "So it's really done and you're ready to move on?"

"Yes and yes," Jax replied succinctly. "Whoa," he said when Marlowe suddenly tried tugging her hand out of his grip. "There's no reason for us to pull away from each other again, okay? I know it might seem like I was thinking with my other head this morning, but I heard every word you said, darlin'. I'm not about to jeopardize the respect my brothers have for you, but at the same time, I want to explore further whatever this thing between us is."

Pushing past her fear of committing herself to anything with Jax Teller, Marlowe nodded. "I want that too," she offered sincerely.

"Good." Jax pulled her towards him until she was straddling his lap. "So where do we go from here, Doc?" he asked quietly as he reached under the t-shirt she was wearing, his hands skimming the smooth skin of her bare bottom before resting right above her waist.

"Today, I'm heading out to Modesto to see Amelia. You know, the usual. And you?" she responded coyly.

Jax chuckled. "That's not what I meant, darlin'."

 _I know that_ , Marlowe acknowledged to herself, somehow knowing that he probably wouldn't care for the answer she had to the question he had asked.

Marlowe sighed softly as she casually draped her arms on Jax's shoulders. "For now, let's keep things loose and just between us," Marlowe started as she ran delicate fingers through his tousled blond hair. "Let's take it one booty call at a time and see where it goes from there, okay?"

 _One booty call at a time?_ Jax's brow furrowed slightly. No, that's not okay, he wanted to say.

"Okay," he heard himself agree, trying to keep the disappointment out of his response before reaching up to nibble on her lip. "You set the pace, darlin', but you do realize that running around in my clothes is pretty much a dead giveaway that we're doing the naked pretzel, right?"

"Only if I get caught, outlaw," Marlowe drawled before placing a lingering, wet kiss on his lips. "Catch you later?" she asked.

"You know it," Jax said, reluctantly letting her go. Marlowe climbed off the bed and headed to the door. Jax grinned as he watched her do a little recon by carefully poking her head out the door to make sure the coast was clear before heading back to her dorm.

As she closed the door behind her, Jax threw himself back onto the bed and stared at up the ceiling. Ten years ago, the thought of never seeing Tara Knowles again had devastated him. Now, knowing that this time around he and Tara were done for good gave the outlaw a great measure of relief. They had never been meant to be. He understood that now and maybe he had known that ten years ago as well. Only difference now was his willingness to accept it as fact. Loving someone should be simple and straightforward and it had never been that way with Tara. She was never happy with who he was and Jax hated himself for not seeing the need to change. After all, SAMCRO was in his blood and outlaw was the only thing he did well.

Marlowe Guthrie, however, was an entirely different matter altogether. Having grown up around Happy, Jax got the sense that Marlowe knew more about the Club than she should, but also knew enough to keep that knowledge to herself. With her background and training, she had already proven herself an asset to the Club more than once. It was clear to Jax—and to others—that, along with being good at what she did in the field of medicine, Marlowe also enjoyed the thrill of living a little dangerously. Being Happy's sister, her loyalty to the Club was never doubted, never questioned. She was the kind of ally the Club had been lucky to align itself with.

Being Happy's sister, however, had not deterred Jax from wanting to nail the young medic from the moment he had laid eyes on her. Nor had it stopped him from doing just that—repeatedly—only mere hours after Hap had proven himself a loyal brother to Jax at the Streams. Jax had much love and respect for his SAA, but he also had no intention of pulling back from Marlowe now. Even though he wasn't quite sure what this shit with her was or where it was going, with nothing holding him back now, the one thing Jax knew for damn sure was that he was going to enjoy finding out.

Things could still get complicated, especially since all she would commit herself to at the moment were "booty calls", but Jax Teller wasn't done with Marlowe Guthrie.

Not by a long shot.

* * *

Deciding to stop at Hanna's for breakfast after returning from their all-night shift at the warehouse, Happy and Tig had just pulled into the lot and were backing into their respective spots when Tig let out a long, low whistle.

"Well shit," he mused as he removed his helmet and put it on the handlebars of his bike. "What the hell is going on here?"

Unsnapping the strap of his helmet, Happy looked up in time to see Jax's old lady speed walk her way from the Clubhouse towards her car. "Looks like somebody's bitch saw some action and might be a little pissed off about it," he replied in a gravelly voice as he climbed off his bike.

"Damn," Tig muttered as he noticed the blood stains on Tara's face and blouse, along with the red-rimmed eyes and haggard face. "You think that's Jax's handy work, bro?"

Happy's head snapped to the side as he glared daggers at Tig. "You've known Jax longer than I have, asshole. You think he's capable of shit like that?"

Tig made a "pffft" sound as they watched Tara fumble for her car keys. "Aren't we all capable of that shit, bro?" he asked with a beleaguered look on his face thinking about several harpy ex-old ladies. "Do I think he'd do it? Nah," he replied candidly.

That's because Jax Teller loved pussy and was known as the MC's gentleman biker. Happy remembered Jax's philosophy against what seemed to be socially acceptable violence against women in biker culture: sometimes a woman will try and push you to the point where you want to lash out violently. In a way, they're testing your manhood because it takes a real man to just walk away. Only a bully and a coward would take the easy way by laying a hand on a woman.

 _But that was the old Jax_ , Happy thought to himself. He had witnessed something break inside the SAMCRO President yesterday and there was no telling where the knowledge that his old lady had betrayed him had pushed him to. Jax wasn't a coward or a bully, but he was after all just a man.

Dropping her keys on the black top for the third time, Tara sank down into a crouch to pick them up. With her elbows on her knees and her forehead in the palm of her hand, from where Happy and Tig were standing, it looked like she was sobbing.

"Think we should go check her out?" Tig asked, unsure of himself. "I mean, she is Jax's old lady."

 _Not anymore she ain't_ , Happy wanted to say but didn't.

"Go ahead if you want, bro," Happy gestured towards the Honda Pilot. "It was your ass she stitched up after a Rottie took a big chunk out of it, right? I ain't touching that sitch with a ten-foot pole." After all, Hap had a pretty good idea what the water works were all about anyway and he had no sympathy for the bitch.

Just as Tig started tentatively moving in her direction, Tara stood up. Wiping the tears from her face, she saw the two fearsome bikers watching her. While Tig looked somewhat confused, even slightly concerned by her appearance, Happy was looking at her with a grim eye, his lips pressed into a hard, thin line. Misinterpreting the contempt he obviously had for her as a by-product of her run-in with Marlowe during the last Sunday dinner, Tara's anger bubbled to the surface.

Knowing she would probably never see Happy Lowman again emboldened Tara. "I was right about your sister!" she called out angrily, her chin up in the air. "She is a fuckin' whore!"

It took Happy about half a second to respond as all the blood rushed out of his head and straight to his trigger finger. Quickly reaching into his holster under his kutte, he pulled out his Sig Sauer and aimed it at Tara.

"WHOA!" Tig hollered as he practically flew through the air, catching Happy's arm and dislodging the gun from his hand before he had the chance to pull the trigger. "What the fuck ya doin'?!" he asked incredulously as a terrified Tara jumped into her car.

"What?!" Happy bellowed at Tig. "I was aiming at her tire!"

"Really?" Tig asked sarcastically as the Honda tore out of its parking spot and roared off the lot. "You mean the tire sitting on top of her neck, right?"

Happy shrugged it off and grabbed his gun back from Tig, ramming it into his holster.

Standing with his hands on his waist, Tig shook his head. "Ha! Maybe now we know who busted Tara's face," he mused out loud, a wide shit-eating grin spreading across his face as his blue eyes connected with Happy's blazingly angry ones.

"Marlowe!" they chorused together.

With Tig gleefully chuckling at his side, a pissed-off Happy stormed towards the Clubhouse.

* * *

Stomping his way into the Clubhouse, Happy was halfway around the bar and heading to the dorms when he stopped short, causing Tig to plow right into him from behind.

Turning slowly to glare at one-third of the Wolf Pack, Happy growled, "And where the fuck are you going?"

Tig took a step back as he removed his sunglasses, a barely contained smirk playing on his lips. "Don't worry, brother. I got your back."

Happy's eyes narrowed dangerously. "I got this," he said irritably. When Tig made no move to back away, Happy snapped, "GO! AWAY!"

"Sheesh, okay," Tig threw his multi-ringed hands up in defeat, knowing that he could probably pry the juicy deets from Filthy Phil later. "But I'll be right here if you need me," he said charitably. Pulling a stool, Tig sat down, leaning back against the bar top on his elbows.

Happy stared at him for a long moment before shaking his head and continuing his trek towards the dorms in search of his sister. Muttering to himself about having to live in a Clubhouse full of nosy, no-life-having motherfuckers, it suddenly dawned on him that barging into Marlowe's room might not be the best move at the present time.

 _What if she's not alone?_ he asked himself, his gut telling him that was most likely the case.

It was one thing to suspect that his Pres was aching to press up on his little sister. It was a whole different bowl of fucked up shit altogether to catch him actually doing it now that he was done with his old lady.

Stopping in front of Marlowe's door, Happy raised his fist, but hesitated knocking. He pricked his ears up for any telltale sounds indicating that it would be best if he just backed the fuck away. Hearing nothing, he was cocking his head towards the door for a closer listen when it flew open. There, dressed and ready to start her day, stood Marlowe.

Having caught Happy with his ear practically pressed against her door, Marlowe arched an eyebrow as she crossed her arms over her chest. "Good morning," she said nonchalantly, trying really hard to suppress a smile _and_ the desire to box his ears for being such a snoop.

Knowing he was caught red-handed, Happy straightened up to his full height and plastered the most menacing look he could muster on his face. "We need to talk," he said, sidestepping Marlowe as he entered her room uninvited.

"Can it wait?" Marlowe asked with a frown. "I was just on my way to the rehab center. Amelia asked me to bring her some toiletries and I need to stop—"

"No. _That_ shit's gonna wait, Marley," Happy interrupted gruffly.

"Okay," Marlowe replied soberly as she closed the door. "Is something wrong?"

Happy didn't answer right away. He was too busy surveying the room as he rubbed the stubble on his chin as if deep in thought. He noted, as was normally the case, that the room was spotless. The wooden desk was neatly organized with its chair pushed in and in perfect alignment and her bed was made with its customary military preciseness.

With nothing out of place, Happy was starting to think that maybe he had misunderstood the situation. Seeing Tara storm out of the Clubhouse with a bloody, swollen lip and taking a potshot at Happy with his sister as ammunition, his cynical mind had jumped to the wrong conclusion. In the time it had taken him to come barreling in through the Clubhouse, Happy had convinced himself that after ending his relationship with Dr. Knowles, Jax had quickly taken the door of opportunity that had suddenly opened to make a move on Marlowe and had been caught red-handed by his former-old lady.

However, there was nothing seemingly out of the ordinary that would indicate that anyone other than Marlowe had spent the night in her room. Happy was starting to feel what could only be classified as remorse for thinking his brother would treat Marlowe like a croweater until—

His dark eyes landed on the heavy glass ashtray discreetly tucked behind the lamp on the nightstand by the bed.

Taking a quick sniff of the air, Happy grimaced at not having noticed the fading scent of cigarette smoke underneath layers of Febreze as soon as he walked in. Pulling his own pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his kutte, he offered one to Marlowe.

She shook her head. "You know I don't smoke, Hap."

"Oh yeah, I forgot," Happy lied. "Mind if I light up?"

"I'd prefer if you wouldn't," she replied. "At least not in my room."

"Then why the ashtray?" Happy quirked his head towards the nightstand, his eyes never leaving Marlowe. If she had anything to hide, Happy noted that her poker face was quite extraordinary as she didn't even flinch.

She casually shrugged one shoulder. "Must belong to room's last occupant."

Happy shook his head. "I don't remember seeing it in here before," he stated, tucking his cigarettes back into his pocket.

" _And_ ," Marley pointedly started. "What's your point, Hap? If you have something to say, just say it."

Happy's jaw clicked with tension. "You fucked Jax Teller last night."

* * *

Driving down the I-18 towards Modesto, Marlowe was in danger of having her jaw unhinge itself as she repeatedly cut loose with long, hard, gaping-mouth yawns. Every time she did, her eyes would water something fierce, blurring her vision and making it hard to focus on the road ahead. It was approaching early afternoon and the sun was shining brightly in the beautiful blue California sky, but as far as Marlowe was concerned, it was time for bed.

Bone-weary tiredness had suddenly seeped into her body not ten minutes into her drive to see Amelia. As a habitual insomniac, it wasn't unusual for her to sometimes feel exhausted so early in the day due to lack of sleep, but she couldn't remember the last time she had felt the actual desire to sleep. Like _now_. Marlowe had been so tempted to turn the car around and head back to the Clubhouse for a nap, but she didn't want to draw Happy's attention to her antics anymore than she already had that morning.

Smiling to herself, Marlowe quickly suppressed yet another yawn as she reached for the extra large gas station coffee sitting in the Impala's cup holder. She had every reason in the world to smile—and to yawn, for that matter—because, as Happy had so eloquently phrased it, she had indeed fucked Jax Teller!

As thoughts of Jax chased her brain fog away, Marlowe was determined that nothing would dampen her good mood. Happy had tried, at first chewing her out for getting tangled in the sheets with the Club Pres, but nothing he had to say could possibly wipe the Cheshire grin off her face. After all, she had enjoyed having her pipes thoroughly cleaned by Jax and, now that according to him Tara was out of the picture, she was looking forward to it happening again. And again. And again.

Reminding Happy that she was a grown woman, Marlowe went on to explain that what had transpired the night before had been completely consensual and none of his business.

"I get that, Marley," Happy had started, and there was a sudden softness to his gruff voice that had surprised Marlowe. Half expecting him to lose his shit, she hadn't been prepared for the brotherly concern. "Jax is going through some shit right now and I've known him since he was a kid, little girl. My brother is a good man, loyal to his Club and his family, but he tends to exorcise his demons through his dick. I've seen it happen before and I just don't want you to be the one that ends up getting hurt."

Somewhat caught off guard, Marlowe couldn't help but smile. Not once during her boy-crazy phase as a teenager had Happy so candidly expressed his concern for her well-being. Almost every boy she had dated in high school had ended up with a steel-toed boot up their ass as Happy would pick them up by the scruff of the neck and toss them out the front door. She had always thought he was just being a dick, but after their recent talk, Marlowe now knew that had just been his way of looking out for her.

"Trust me, Hap," Marlowe had started gently. "It's not that serious. For whatever reason Jax is not ready to share, he ended things with his old lady. That, however, had nothing to do with me or the fact that we like each other and have been attracted to one another since the day we met. We're keeping shit casual, friends with benefits."

Happy ran a hand over his clean-shaven head. "I know his old lady is no longer picture," he started, causing Marlowe to quirk an eyebrow as she wondered if he knew the reason why Jax had ended the relationship. "But you work for the Club, Marley, and that can complicate things."

"It won't, Hap," Marlowe had assured him. "You know I'm out of here in August."

"A lot can happen between now and August," Happy warned sagely.

Marlowe smiled. "I'm not worried about it, but I'm just loving that you are."

Happy shook his head as if she were a lost cause. "You use protection?"

Marlowe sighed dramatically at Hap's not-so-subtle way of changing the subject. "Of course! You wanna know how big he is too?" she snarked.

Happy had dangerously narrowed his eyes at her. "No, but I would like to know how Tara ended up with a fat and bloody lip."

"Oh, shit, you saw that, huh?" Marlowe asked sheepishly as Happy nodded. "What can I say? I owed her one, but I gave her two."

Shaking his head again, Happy turned to leave but stopped at the door. "Closed fist?" he asked curiously.

"Is there any other way?" Marlowe smirked.

"Atta girl," he threw a wink at her before leaving the room, closing the door behind him.

* * *

Jax Teller and his VP were relaxing in Opie's backyard, drinking beers and passing a joint between them. With the kids in school and Lyla at work, Opie had been doing some mundane shit reorganizing his workshop in the garage when his brother stopped by unannounced with news that he had given his old lady her walking papers.

Now comfortably laid back in a deck chair on the patio, Jax took several gulps from his long neck bottle of beer and watched as Opie processed all he had just shared with him.

"Shit, Jax," Opie said softly, "I'm sorry."

Jax shook his head. "Don't be," he replied. "I know I'm not. To tell you the truth, I think I'm actually relieved it's over."

Opie threw Jax a quizzical look. "This is Tara we're talking about, brother."

"What?" Jax asked with a raised eyebrow. "You think I'm gonna fall apart like I did ten years ago?"

Opie shrugged his massive shoulders. "All I'm saying is that first love dies hard, and I should know all about that shit, remember?" he said thinking of Donna.

"Yeah, maybe it does," Jax agreed. "The first time around it nearly killed me, but this time I find myself wishing I had just let her go when she wanted to go back to Chicago. She never belonged here and she sure as shit didn't belong in my life."

"That's probably just your anger talking, brother."

"Oh, you bet it is," Jax said through a clenched jaw. "She lied and manipulated me with the death of a baby _she_ was responsible for. Those fourteen months in Stockton, I beat myself up every damn day believing she had miscarried and that it was all my fault."

"I don't see why," Opie tried to comfort his best friend. "Even if the miscarriage hadn't been a lie, Salazar would have been the one responsible, not you."

"Tara would disagree," Jax smirked bitterly. "She hated it here. She resented the Club and the way I live my life and was pushing for us to leave Charming and start over. She almost had me convinced too, which goes a long way in explaining why Tara resented Ma so much. She saw a lot of Gemma in herself and, what's worse, she knew I was starting to see it too. All of Gemma's bad qualities too and none of the good. 'Sides, I may love my mom and all, but I ain't Tig. The thought of sharing my bed with her wanna-be clone is a sure-fire mood killer."

"Ugh," Opie made a face. "Now that you mention it, the last time we saw Tara, Lyla noticed she was sporting platinum highlights in her hair."

Jax rubbed his face in an effort to scrub the mental image of Tara and his mother morphing into one out of his mind. "The point is, I never had the chance of making her happy, not here and maybe not ever. Unlike Ma, she hated the Club, but I couldn't just walk away from who I am anymore than I could walk out on my Club. Maybe I'm just not capable of loving someone the way I do the MC," he lamented.

"You know that's not true, Jax," Opie admonished. "You love Abel."

Just hearing his son's name brought a smile to Jax's face. "Yeah, I do," he conceded. "More than anything."

"Look, man, I know Tara meant a lot to you and the last thing you want to hear right now is anyone telling you that maybe it's for the best—" Opie started and hesitated.

"But," Jax smirked.

"But maybe it is for the best. I mean, what she did doesn't really surprise me. Even in high school she was a little bat-shit crazy. Very possessive of you and would do just about anything to keep you to herself," Opie explained.

"We were both like that, Ope. We loved each other," Jax said defensively.

"I get it—" Opie started, but stopped suddenly. "No, you know what? I don't get it. Back then, me and Donna used to talk all the time about you two and we could never figure out what it was that made you connect as a couple. I mean, yeah, she was cute, had a nice rack and shit and, to hear you talk, she was a great lay, but that could describe more than half the chicks you ever hooked up with back then. Don't get me wrong, Jax. I liked her and she really stepped up with Abel while you were in Stockton, but you two fell hard and fast for each other and I could never figure out why."

"Why not just tell me how you really feel, asshole?" Jax groused.

Opie ran a hand through his hair. "You know what? Forget I said anything. I _am_ sorry shit ended badly between you two."

Jax took another deep gulp of his beer. "Don't worry about it, bro. I'm sure you're not the only one who felt that way," Jax waved Opie's concerns away. "I'm starting to realize that maybe I just wanted to believe that she had always been 'the one', but sometimes what may have been love at sixteen doesn't necessarily translate when you're fucking thirty-two."

"She's out there, you know," Opie said, prompting Jax to look at him quizzically. " 'The One'. Just don't wear your dick down to a nub trying to find her. Next time, let her find you," he said, raising an eyebrow at the smirk Jax was trying to hide. "Unless, that is, you already starting lookin'. In which case, that must be a record, bro, even for you!"

 _And with Jax looking like the cat that swallowed the canary, something tells me he didn't have that far to look_ , Opie said to himself thinking of Marlowe and smiled.

"Whoa! Slow down, Ope," Jax laughed. "Let's just say that for the time being, I'm not looking for a replacement old lady. With Tara no longer trying to pull me away, right now my focus is on getting the Club legit."

Opie heaved a sigh of relief. "Shit, you have no idea how glad I am to hear you say that. Ever since you got out of Stockton, man, you've been pushing so hard for this Cartel shit to happen, I was starting to think that maybe you forgot what our goal for the Club used to be."

"The goal is still the same, brother," Jax replied forcefully. "But we both knew this shit wasn't going to be easy. You can't just turn a Club that's been dealing guns for over twenty years on a dime and force it into a completely different direction. Running guns hasn't made us rich, but we're comfortable enough that our biggest obstacle in changing shit has and will always be—"

"Clay," Opie said evenly as he stubbed out what was left of their joint. "I know."

"I know you do," Jax agreed. "You also know that even though I'm the one wielding the gavel now, it's still gonna take some time to turn shit around. I need your patience, Ope, but most of all, I need to know that I have your support because I can't do any of this without you."

Opie was leaning forward in his chair, his elbows resting on his knees as he looked at Jax sideways. "You know I'll always have your back, right?" he asked and Jax nodded solemnly. "I'm here and I'm listening. Just tell me how we're gonna fix SAMCRO."

"You read JT's manuscript. Not only did he want to get the MC out of guns, but he wanted a club that was no longer outlaw. The only way we can do that is by finding some legitimate businesses for SAMCRO to run," Jax suggested. "Even with the Cartel business still hanging over our heads, we need to devote some time into finding ways for the Club to start earning straight right away. We need to start preparing for the day when we are _completely_ out of the gun trade."

Opie nodded, his barely-there smile camouflaged by the hair on his face. "Sounds good to me, brother. What do you have in mind?"

Jax spent the next couple of minutes outlining the first project he had in mind as Opie listened avidly.

"Seems like you already put a lot of thought into this," Opie noted with barely masked approval.

"I have because it makes sense. It's a ready-made business that's in desperate need of restructuring. A healthy injection of some fresh capital will turn it around," Jax added. "It'll be a hell of a lot easier setting shit straight and making a profit than it will be to get Cara Cara up and running again, which I plan for us to do too."

"So SAMCRO's getting back into the porn business?" Opie asked distastefully. "You know how much Clay hated that shit."

Jax furrowed his brow, sensing from his friend that Clay wasn't the only who despised the porn industry. "Aside from Clay, I can't think of anyone else at the table that loves running guns more than pussy and majority rules, brother," Jax stated as a matter-of-fact. "Besides, we still hold a 50% stake in Luann's studio. The rights to Cara Cara's catalog of movies alone will bring in money at least in the high six figures. It would be a bad move on our part to just let the business fold."

"Are most of Luann's girls still under contract with Cara Cara?" Opie asked quietly.

Jax nodded. "As far as I know, yeah."

"Including Lyla," Opie stated more than asked.

"We can cut her loose," Jax suggested. "As far as I'm concerned, she's under no contractual obligation with SAMCRO."

Opie shook his head, chuckling bitterly. "Try telling her that shit."

Jax sat up and leaned forward, placing his empty beer bottle on the patio tiles between his feet. "How are things between you and your old lady?"

"Could be better," Opie admitted. "We've been going through some shit lately, mostly my fault."

It had been a few weeks since Lyla had lost it and blew up at him and Opie knew he was the only one to blame. SAMCRO's VP was starting to realize that maybe he should have listened when Chibs had questioned him about getting married again so soon.

Opie didn't doubt that he had feelings for Lyla. She was a good woman who loved her kid and had taken on raising Ellie and Kenny as if they were her own. But she still wasn't Donna. It was as if his heart refused to accept the fact that his wife was dead and wasn't coming back, keeping him from moving forward with the future.

It was obvious he was hurting Lyla. He cared too much to hurt her like that and he was starting to think that maybe he needed to let her go.

"Ope, don't start doubting yourself just because my relationship with Tara went to shit," Jax advised sagely. "Lyla's a good woman and I'll be damned if I know why she loves you, so hold onto to her and work shit out. Short of killing your unborn kid without your knowledge, there's not much you can't work out if you love each other."

As both men stood up, Opie opened his arms to embrace his best friend since the cradle. "Thanks, brother. Whatever happens, I guess we'll always have each other, huh?"

"Always," Jax said as he thumped Opie soundly on the back.


	31. Chapter 31

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sons of Anarchy. I do, however, own Marlowe and any other OCs that appear in the Two Sons Universe.**

* * *

_**Saturday, June 19, 2010** _

Kozik loved his Club brothers like family, but damn it, some times their timing sucked ass! He had been _this close_ to convincing the pretty nursing student with the tight body that along with taking his vitals, she was supposed to give him a sponge bath when Clay walked into his room. That's not to say that Kozik wasn't happy to see him because he was. Considering how busy SAMCRO had been as of late with the Cartel business, he was pleasantly surprised to see a friendly face that didn't, for once, belong to Marlowe.

"Everyone all set for the next run on Monday?" Kozik asked after the pretty young thing had hauled ass out of his room.

"Yeah, everything's a go," Clay replied as he stretched his long legs out, trying to make himself more comfortable in the rigid visitor's chair. "Opie and Miles had no problem with the transport from Vancouver and everything's being loaded up as we speak. I don't anticipate any problems with the delivery, but I'm sure glad it'll be the last one we make to Tucson."

Romeo had recently made the decision to have his own crew pick up shipments in NorCal as well as arranging for transport to Mexico and this would be the last shipment that the Sons would have to haul to Arizona themselves. Although this change in logistics would cut into Redwood's profit margin, everyone at the table considered it a blessing in disguise after SAMTAZ voted to stop providing protection by riding with SAMCRO. After the brutal murder of their President, the Tucson charter decided to concentrate on developing their own growing meth trade instead.

Kozik sighed heavily. "Shit, SAMCRO can probably use all the bodies they can get for the ride. Lotta good I'm doing laid up in here."

The semi-private room Kozik occupied in the Orthopedic Recovery Unit was small, but at least the two patches were now alone. Kozik's roommate—a crotchety old man in for a hip replacement—was down in Radiology having some tests done before surgery. This allowed the two Sons to talk freely and openly about Club business.

"Don't worry about it, son," Clay assured him. "Tacoma sent down a crew, so we're riding heavy. Just worry about getting better soon. We got shit covered from all sides."

Lying in his hospital bed, Herman Kozik was in an upright position, his right arm bent at the elbow and resting behind his head as he grinned wryly at the former SAMCRO Pres. The majority of cuts and bruises he had suffered to his arms and face—ranging from black and blue to a stunning array of colors, including brown, yellow and green—had finally started to heal. Instead of his normally sun-kissed, beach boy appearance, however, underneath the growth of a scraggly beard the biker now sported the indoor pallor more suited to a 9-to-5 office drone.

With nearly two weeks of recuperation and confinement under his belt, the spiky-haired patch was getting somewhat restless. Although he never wanted for company as there was always someone from the Clubhouse around to keep him from getting too lonely, he was starting to feel the walls close in on him.

"Believe me, brother, getting better is my top priority. The sooner that happens, the sooner I can get out of here. I hate this place," Kozik replied ruefully.

Clay quirked an eyebrow. "What? They ain't treating you right? Just say the word, brother, and I'll get Gemma in here quicker than shit. Let's just say she has a personal relationship with the Hospital Admin."

Kozik shook his head. "Nah, St. Thomas ain't been nothing but good to me since Marley dragged my ass in here," he started. "It's just that the longer I'm here, the greater the chance that I'm gonna slip into some shit and end up forfeiting my sobriety. I wasn't feeling the regimen my Docs had me on for pain management, but they've been working with me. Aside from the occasional joint, I've been clean for too long now only to get hooked on 'scripts while I'm here."

"I get the concern, Kozy, but considering that your ass was about an eighth of an inch away from being spread all over the Cascades, I think this is where you belong for the time being. You're lucky that's all you walked away with," Clay advised, nodding at Kozik's left leg heavily encased in bandages and a soft cast that ran the full length up to his thigh. "So to speak," he flashed him a cheesy grin before continuing, " 'Sides, you're stronger than you give yourself credit for, brother. Your leg's gonna heal and your sobriety will remain intact. Just take it one day at a time."

Kozik knew that Clay was absolutely right. Instead of lamenting his predicament for putting him in the direct path of temptation, he should be grateful he had survived to see another day. The blast from the landmine had sent both Kozik and a Galindo soldier flying through the air, the latter not being as lucky as the former and taking the brunt of the assault. The details were still a little hazy in his mind, but Kozik could remember seeing a blur of trees and blue sky reeling as he traveled head over heels. And body parts. He remembered blood spattering him in the face as body parts flew past him before he finally crashed, left leg first, into the ground with an almighty thud.

Coming to and feeling the immense pain of shattered and broken bones, Kozik had done his best to fight past the pain as Marlowe worked to stabilize him. Once a Marine, always a Marine, he repeated to himself while struggling to keep from passing out. He had learned to handle his shit with the 1st Battalion and now he was putting everything he had learned to work for his brothers. He had been prepared to sacrifice his leg—and quite possibly his own life—if it meant keeping the Club he loved so much off the ATF's radar. It was what any loyal Marine or patch would do—willingly die for his brothers.

But Marlowe Guthrie wouldn't let it be. It was several days later in St. Thomas that Kozik had learned from Chibs just how hard Marlowe had advocated to Jax on his behalf, explaining the seriousness of his injuries. She had even used her medical know-how to come up with a plausible reason for what had caused such damage to his leg. Considering the possible history they shared, it made the lengths to which she had gone for him that more special.

With Marlowe spending a fair amount of time keeping him company everyday while he recuperated, it was getting increasingly difficult for Kozik to keep silent regarding his history with Shannon Guthrie, his former lover and the woman he believed was Doc's mother. His guilt combined with his need to know the truth was eating him alive.

 _I need to figure this shit out and sooner rather than later_.

Suddenly, his thoughts were intruded on. "Is everything okay, son?" Clay asked quietly as he noted the pained expression on Kozik's face.

It was the opening Kozik had been waiting for. "Nah, bro. Everything's turned to shit, actually," he declared.

"I thought everything was good with the leg," Clay began but stopped short as Kozik grimly shook his head.

"That's not it. The orthopedic surgeon says things are looking good so far. As long as I can manage to stay infection-free, I'll be out of here in a couple of weeks and moved to a physical therapy center. The shit that has me all twisted has to do with Marley," he said and watched as the older man's eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"Doc?" A shit-eating grin formed over Clay's face. "Hey, now, don't tell me your little heart's going pitter-patter for your own personal Florence Nightingale."

Kozik reeled back in shock. "Shit no! Don't even think that shit out loud. Ya trying to get me killed?" He watched as the older man shrugged his shoulders.

"My bad. Hap would most definitely cream the ass of any brother ballsy enough to push up on Marley, but he'd cut you some slack and let you heal first," Clay teased. Noting Kozik's stone-cold sober expression, he continued, "So if you ain't hot for Doc, then what's all this angst rolling off of you? I feel like the father of a teenage boy who's about to confess knocking up his first cousin."

"It's almost as bad," Kozik said looking at his brother forlornly. "I'm pretty near sure that I used to know Marlowe's mom back in the day."

For a moment the old biker was flummoxed. "I think I'm gonna need a little more Intel, Kozy," and watched as the patch ran agitated fingers through his choppy hair.

"Ever since I laid eyes on Doc for the first time in Bakersfield, I've had this, oh I don't know, déjà vu shit going on inside my head. I brushed it off, thinking I had fried my brain on all the shit I used to do back in the day because I couldn't remember where I could possibly know her from. When a major hint fell into my lap, I had my brother ship me my old footlocker he had been holding for me in storage in order to confirm it." Reaching out to the nightstand, Kozik managed to retrieve his wallet from the top drawer. Opening it, he pulled out a folded picture and handed it to Clay.

Clay pulled out pair of glasses from the inside pocket of his kutte and put them on. "Shit on a stick," he murmured as he examined the photo of a baby-faced Kozik dressed in his Marine uniform with a woman in his arms that had more than just a passing resemblance to the Club's resident medic. His steely blue eyes met Kozik's. "You know, son, I've heard people say that everyone has a double somewhere. Are you sure—"

"I'm almost positive, Clay. Flip it over."

Clay did as he was told and read aloud Kozik's scribbled handwriting. "Shannon Guthrie and me, Star Bar, 1979," Clay paused for a moment as his mind processed the information. "Guthrie, ain't that Marley's—"

"Last name? Yeah. With all the fuckin' chit chat that goes on in the Clubhouse, Idon't know how I never heard it before. First time I heard it was when Doc introduced herself to Jax's old lady at your house a couple weeks back before shit went south. It was like somebody had turned the light on in a dark room and I could finally see who she reminded me of."

For the life of him, Kozik couldn't figure out why he hadn't seen the resemblance before, why he hadn't listened to his instincts when he felt that little twinge in his gut the moment Marlowe had turned around in Happy's mother's kitchen. _Apparently, memories can and did fade with time and a shit load of drugs_ , he thought with some bitterness, as there was definitely some shit he wanted to forget about Shannon Guthrie.

Clay examined the photo again. It was undeniable. Although the woman in the picture was a pale, cool blonde, her facial features were a perfect match for Marlowe's. Full, pouty mouth, incredible bone structure and piercing heather gray eyes.

"Okay, so you hooked up with her mother a long time ago. No biggie. Marley's a sailor and no shrinking violet by anyone's standards. She was probably just as randy as the men she served with and had a fella in every port. You're worried because you think she'll be pissed at you for banging her mother? Didn't Hap take a ride on that train too?" Clay reasoned.

"Yeah, but she'll probably want to gut me with one of those scalpels from her med kit if she knew I was the one that introduced her mother to heroin," Kozik said quietly.

Clay pursed his lips as he leaned back in his chair. "Well, shit, _that_ might be a problem. You wanna fill me in on how you hooked up with her in the first place?"

Kozik nodded and reaching over to the table, poured himself a glass of ice water from the pitcher sitting on it and drained it dry before he spoke. "I was just a young kid when I signed up. I was eighteen and in spite of making it through Marine training, I was as green and wet behind the ears as a Midwest farm boy."

"Oh yeah? I bet those California good-looks of yours wrapped in a Marine uniform got you pretty far with the ladies though, huh?" Clay teased good-naturedly. "Eatin', fightin' and tearing up young, tight pussy all over the fuckin' world!" he crowed and the two of them laughed companionably, the older man's jocularity helping to lighten Kozik's mood.

"Basically. My dick saw more action than my rifle ever did," Kozik smiled. "When I came home on my first leave, my first port of call was the premier watering hole for military personnel in San Diego—"

"Let me guess," Clay said as he waved the picture around, "the good ole' Star Bar."

"Damn straight, and _that's_ where I met Shannon."

Kozik could count on his hand the number of times he had seriously fallen for a woman. He was a ladies man, no doubt, and Clay was dead-on about his boy-next-door good looks giving him an in with the female of the species. That, coupled with loads of charm, always worked to his advantage. During his many years as an outlaw biker, Kozik had managed to remain single by becoming quite good at keeping himself emotionally distant from women. Unfortunately, that had been a skill he had acquired _after_ getting tangled with the likes of Shannon Guthrie.

Not only was Shannon drop-dead beautiful, but she had been a force of nature with a true zest for life. When Kozik first met her, she had been working in the secretarial pool of some mid-sized law firm in San Diego. In order to balance the boredom of her office job, she spent her free time hanging out in the Star Bar, living vicariously through the soldiers and sailors she met that had traveled the world. Kozik remembered falling hard for the sexy blonde the minute he had offered to buy her a drink and she turned those haunting gray eyes on him. Quickly hooking up with the breath-taking young woman, Kozik was completely smitten. Shannon Guthrie had been his first and greatest love and his biggest regret.

"Shannon was a real party girl," Kozik continued. "Everyone, from other Marines to Vets and even some of the bar staff warned me to leave her alone, but I fell for her like a ton of bricks. And for a time, I knew she had fallen for me too.

"After a couple of months stateside, I got new orders that sent me to Okinawa. I was really missing her, getting that itchy feeling a Marine gets when he leaves his girl behind. Three months overseas, my Battalion was sent to Zaire to provide logistical support to the Belgians and the French during several rescue operations. We saw some action, little skirmishes that didn't make it into the news back home, but enough that I popped my cherry with my first kill. It kind of turned me inside out, brother. I needed some relief, a way to escape. I found it in heroin and like that," Kozik snapped his fingers, "my ass was hooked and I started messing up big time.

"By the time I finished my time in Okinawa in '80 and returned to San Diego, my jacket was full of warnings, failed piss tests, you name it, but I didn't give a shit. I was a cocky little prick back then. First thing I did when I got home was go looking to score some shit, then I headed for Shannon's. She had always been more of a social drinker, but I managed to convince her to do a line with me. How the fuck could I do that to someone I loved as much as I did Shannon?" Kozik asked, directing the question to himself for probably the millionth time since that fateful night.

"Heroin is a hell of a drug, brother," Clay said sympathetically.

"It sure is 'cause six months later, my ass was booted from the Marines. By that time, I had moved in with Shannon and we were getting high every fuckin' day. When I finally hit rock bottom, the only one there to catch me was my brother Lew. He got me clean and I tried to pay it forward by trying to get Shannon into rehab, but she wasn't done partying, brother. And more than anything, she liked partying with a Marine, 'a real man', and in her eyes, since I was no longer one, I sure as shit was the other, so she tossed my ass. I let it end without getting her the help she needed. A year later, I heard from Tig who got booted on a psych discharge and had hooked up with the Sons. Told me to get my ass to Charming pronto, that he had the cure for what ailed me. You pretty much know the rest of it. SAMCRO, the brotherhood I found in Charming, healed me and I never gave Shannon Guthrie another thought."

"Until Marlowe," Clay prompted soberly.

"Yeah, until Marlowe," Kozik agreed. "I gotta believe that telling Doc that once upon a time not only did I know, but banged her mother and introduced her to drugs is not gonna win me any popularity contest with her."

"Well my brother, from where I sit, it looks like you got a lot more to figure out than whether or not you should tell Marley the truth," the old biker drawled.

"How you figure?"

Clay paused for a moment, rubbing his chin with a huge hand before he spoke. "You also need to figure out what are the chances that Doc is your kid."

* * *

Clay Morrow wasn't the kind of man who was into stopping to smell the fuckin' flowers and shit. He was far too busy living the life of an outlaw, trying to keep his happy ass from catching a bullet and staying one step ahead of the long arm of the law. The older he got, however, the more difficult all of the above was starting to get and it was during his time in Stockton that he realized how soothing it was for his soul to just sit in the greenhouse and watch his old lady putter about.

The sun was just starting to set as late afternoon migrated into early evening. The sun's dying rays were streaming through the open windows of the greenhouse Gemma had somehow conned Clay into building for her over ten years ago. His old lady's love of flowers was well-known among the Club and cultivating them in her greenhouse was a hobby that not only relaxed her, but Clay as well. Gemma Teller-Morrow might be the toughest old lady ever to ride bitch on a Harley, but Clay had always found this side of her captivating. It was just another fascinating side of her as a woman that not many people had the privilege of ever seeing. Hell, after almost seventeen years of wedded bliss, not even Clay was sure he had a complete picture of who she really was either. Multifaceted she may be, but Gemma carried with her a shitload of baggage that from time-to-time bled all over Clay, but he knew he wouldn't have her any other way.

Returning home, Clay had been greeted by the heavenly scent of roasting meat and potatoes permeating the house. Already salivating and chomping at the bit to tie on a feedbag, Clay discovered that his old lady had a burr in her ass about repotting some African Violets she was attempting to grow before putting dinner on the table. Knowing that—in the confines of their home—Momma did whatever the hell Momma wanted when she wanted, Clay dutifully followed Gemma into the greenhouse to sit on the cushioned wicker sofa in companionable silence while she worked.

As Gemma fussed and clucked over her plant, Clay relaxed with a shot of Jack and one of his favorite cigars as he contemplated his visit with Kozik earlier in the day. In the slowly dwindling light of the sun, Clay smirked to himself as he realized the magnitude of the nut-punch he had delivered to the ailing biker.

_I can't believe that it never occurred to Kozy that he could be the baby daddy of a grown ass woman._

Out of all the things Kozik had been stressing over, the one issue that could impact Marlowe's life going forward had never even crossed his mind. Seeing the stunned look on his brother's face, Clay had taken his momentary loss of speech to outline a couple of thoughts that had occurred to him during their chat.

" _Now I know this is some shit you weren't expecting to hear, and I could be waaay off the fuckin' mark here, but let's break down what you've already told me. You said you and this bitch split up in 1980. From what I recall hearing about her background, Doc joined up at 18, and hadn't spoken to Hap until she showed up on his mother's doorstep ten years later. She's stuck around to take care of her while we were all in the joint, so when you tack on fourteen months to that, Marley's gotta be at least twenty-nine and twenty-nine years ago would be—" Clay paused as he watched the light dawn in his brother's eyes._

" _Fuck," Kozik exclaimed_ _weakly. "1981," he said as his body slumped against the pillows of his hospital bed in shock._

" _Now, I'm not an expert—shit, I ain't even all that good at math, but depending_ _on when Doc was born, it lines your ass up with the possibility that you're her sperm donor," Clay finished._

" _Holy s_ _hit! I never even thought of that," Kozik rubbed his forehead as if trying to ward off a migraine. "I mean, I got clean and never looked back when Shannon decided that she liked her life the way it was. I gotta figure that if I did knock her up, she would have reached out to me, at least for money, don'tcha think?" Kozik ran both hands through his hair, disheveling it even more. "Shit, Clay! For a minute, I actually considered pressing up on Marlowe. Might have too if not for Hap. Jesus Christ! This is some truly twisted shit."_

" _Look," Clay started. "Bikers aren't exactly known for wrapping their junk every time they want some pussy. It's quite possible that any number of our brothers has some unknown kid running around out there," he said wistfully. "Man-to-man, brother-to-brother, all I can say is that if it was me, I'd wanna know if Doc were my kid and to find out, you're gonna have to come clean with Marley—and her brother."_

The last thing that the former SAMCRO Pres had expected during his visit to see Kozik was to end up discussing the Club medic's paternity. It went without saying that Marlowe had made quite an impact on SAMCRO since her arrival and Clay could honestly say that he liked the outspoken and tough-minded young woman. She was one bitch who knew her shit and had proven herself invaluable not only to the Club, but to Clay personally.

Downing the contents of his glass, Clay put it down on the coffee table and carefully flexed the fingers of his left hand and grinned as he felt only faint twinges. The combination of cortisone shots, hand exercises and the salve that Marlowe had made for him had provided a true measure of relief, but the real test would come tomorrow when he went on the 12-hour run to Tucson with the Club.

But in spite of how helpful Marlowe had been, she wasn't a member of the Club or an old lady, and the last thing SAMCRO needed during this risky period was added family drama among brothers. Which was why, once again, Clay was prepared to use his ace in the hole, his secret weapon when it came to digging up dirt—Gemma.

Clay, who other than running point on the Irish side of the Cartel deal, was never too busy to help a brother in need and had counseled Kozik to let him vet the situation before he spoke to Doc about his suspicions. There was no sense in getting everyone riled up until they had a bit more information to go on.

So Clay Morrow crossed a leg over the other and reaching for the ashtray that resided on the wicker end table next to him, and stubbed out his cigar before sighing heavily. It was loud enough to catch the attention of his old lady, which was what he wanted.

"You sound tired, baby," Gemma said over her shoulder as she fussed with the plant she decided needed a larger pot. Using her spade to give a final tap to the dirt surrounding the plant in its new home—an earthenware vase—she placed the spade on her work counter and pulled off her gardening gloves before walking over to sit next to her old man. "Is everything okay?"

"I _am_ a little tired. Not sure if I'm looking forward to tomorrow," he replied as he draped a heavy arm around her shoulders.

Gemma took his right hand in hers. "Are you worried about these?" She watched as he shrugged off her concern.

"The road I can handle," he replied. Deciding to take another tack, Clay quickly switched gears. "It's Jax I've been thinking about. What's your take on how he's doing? You know, with all the shit that went down with the doctor pussy?" He took in his old lady's brown eyes that were watching him speculatively.

"I think that if what you're doing is worrying over whether or not he can handle what happened, you're wasting your time. My Jax has come a long way from the lovesick teenager he was back in the day. He's not like JT," she said quietly. "JT got sidetracked by Irish pussy while my baby was sick and dying, so he may have lost himself after Thomas passed away, but JT's guilt wasn't misplaced. Jax's was."

"I know," Clay agreed whole-heartedly. "And I told the boy so on more than one occasion. Still, you saw how tore up he was when Tara took off the first time."

Gemma shook her head. "This time it's different. Tara coming back was a mistake and a distraction. Jax knows that now. He's gone through a lot of shit since Abel was born, but he's managed to learn from it and grow. Besides," she paused with a smile. "Instead of wallowing in booze and self-pity, our boy is wallowing in something else."

Clay arched an eyebrow. "Lemme guess. It's pink and wet and tastes like sunshine on a summer morning," he smiled knowingly as Gemma nodded her head. "Hot damn, that's my boy! Getting his dick wet with a croweater already. Keep an eye on him, though," Clay wagged a finger at Gemma. "We don't want a Wendy 2.0."

Gemma laughed. "No, this time around, I'm pretty sure there's no chance of that happening," she replied.

"Oh yeah?" Clay asked curiously. "And where have I been that I ain't heard shit from the old biddy outlaws down at the Clubhouse?"

"Oh believe me, you've been around. It just seems that Jax is keeping shit under the radar. And it's _not_ with a croweater." Gemma's brown eyes twinkled with amusement.

Clay ran a hand over his chin as he pieced together what his old lady was saying without really saying. _Not a croweater . . . keeping shit under the radar_. "Well fuck me," Clay started cackling in spite of the fact that, in light of the day's events, what he had come up with could turn out to be a very bad thing indeed. "He dipping it into Doc, ain't he?"

Gemma threw her head back and laughed. "And what was your first clue?"

"Uh, maybe that she's a hot piece of ass," Clay teased as he barely dodged his old lady's fist as he grabbed it and placed a big, resounding kiss on her knuckles. "Hey! I'm married, not dead."

" _Yet_ ," Gemma added as she gave him the stink face. "But being that Jax has already put his scent on her, I'll give you a pass."

"So you're sure about this?" Clay asked skeptically.

"Hmmm, let me think," Gemma tapped her chin as if in deep thought. "He did break shit off with Tara while lying buck ass naked in Marlowe's bed, so yeah. I'd say I'm sure about this."

"Holy shit! Your son has balls for days," Clay chuckled.

"My son?!" Gemma exclaimed indignantly. "He's like _you_ , which is why you two love bumping heads so much," she laughed.

"You sound like you're alright with this little hook up," Clay noted. "You're not worried?"

"Why would I be?" Gemma shrugged her shoulders. "It's none of my business." She frowned at her old man as he nearly choked on the guffaw that erupted from his chest. "So what, you think I'm into running Jackson's shit?" she asked testily.

Clay had the good sense not to nod in the affirmative, but instead tempered his response. "I know you mean well more than half the time, Gem, but he's a grown ass man."

"I _know_ and now that Dr. Baby Killer is nothing but a distant and horrible memory, I have no intention of getting in his way. If he needs to go through croweaters like shit through a toilet, so be it. Let him fuck that bitch right out of his system."

"Well, since we were discussing Marlowe, her doing Jax may be the least of her problems. It seems," Clay drawled, "that Happy may not be her only connection to the Club." He watched as his old lady's eyebrows crawled up into her hair line.

"What are you talking about?"

"Kozik."

"Kozik is hitting her shit too?!" Gemma exclaimed in disbelief and with what seemed like disappointment to Clay.

"No, it's a little more complicated than that." He spent the next ten minutes sharing what he knew as his old lady sat in stupefied silence.

"Well, if that isn't a kick in the ass," she murmured as she shook her head.

"Yeah, Kozy is kind of spun out about it. Problem is, he isn't sure how to handle the sitch. I know one thing, though. The last thing the Club needs right now is more family drama distracting everybody from the work that needs to get done."

"So what does he plan to do?" she countered.

"Nothing, for now. I told him I'd try to get some more information on Marlowe's background, on the sly you know. At least confirm whether or not Kozik's Shannon Guthrie is the same as Doc's mother. Only thing is, it's not really something I can just bring up in casual conversation, you know?"

Gemma nodded and Clay could see her working through several scenarios in her mind before she looked up at him, a determined glint in her eye. "Let me handle it," she said confidently.

_They should call me the Puppet Master._

"Are you sure babe?" Clay asked with faux-concern. "I mean, this is some sticky shit. Are you sure you want to get involved?" He watched as Gemma crossed her arms under her chest.

"Baby, the Club's your thing. Family is _mine_ ," Gemma replied with a wicked grin as her old man raised his eyebrows. "I can handle this shit."

* * *

Bobby Elvis was on a mission on behalf of the Club's VP. It had been one that as the father confessor of the mother charter he had been entrusted with and, several days later, this was the first opportunity he had been given to broach the subject of where Jax's head was at regarding his newly-acquired single status.

Slapping a meaty fist on his shoulder, Bobby had grabbed the young biker as he entered the Clubhouse and herded him straight for the couch, a couple of glasses and a bottle of Jack already waiting for them on the coffee table.

As he looked at Jax, the lover of all things Elvis was hard-pressed to recognize the man he had become. This last stint in prison had hardened Jax, but almost suffering a brutal and bloody death would do that to a man. The experience, however, had also matured him. Even though as Vice President Jax had always been smart and wise beyond his years, he had lacked a level a maturity that had many questioning whether the hot-headed young man could handle the power that came with the gavel.

Now the youngest National President of the Sons of Anarchy at 32, Jackson Teller was starting to come into his own as both a man and a leader. Although Jax's style of next-generation leadership differed greatly from his stepfather's approach, both men wielded iron fists. Jax's, however, was encased in a soft leather glove, making it more palatable. So far, with Jax at the helm, SAMCRO seemed to be heading in the right direction and, Bobby hoped, would soon see itself free of the Cartel business.

With Tara out of the picture yet again, Opie had expressed concern for his brother. Bobby had been around to witness Jax's downward spiral over ten years ago and knew that this time around it was important for the new Pres not to lose his focus. Underneath Jax's hardcore biker exterior beat the heart of a man that needed to love and be loved in return. As a brother and friend, Bobby wanted his President to know that he understood what he might be going through and that he was there to offer whatever sound advice he could or simply be a shoulder he could lean on.

Bobby watched as Jax stretched his long legs to rest his sneakered feet on the edge of the coffee table. Pouring them each two fingers of whiskey, he handed one to his young brother. Without any lead up into the conversation, he barreled through. "So I understand that Jax Teller is a bachelor once again." Bobby noted a faint look of surprise cross Jax's face, and then it was gone.

"Where did you hear that?" he asked quietly.

"Ope dropped the shit on me in confidence," Bobby watched his Pres carefully for any sign of rancor, but found none. "I think he figured that you might need to talk some shit out. I can't make you talk if you don't want to, but I want you to know that I'm here if you do."

"Thanks, bro," Jax nodded his head soberly. Taking a sip of the amber liquid in his glass, he savored its fiery trail down his throat and into his belly. "So what's your take on that shit?" he asked, surprising Bobby.

"Well," the shaggy haired biker started after some consideration. "You know I ain't never had a beef with Tara, but she did come across like she was living with one foot out of Charming for a while now."

Jax nodded in agreement. "Yeah, and apparently, I was the last one to realize that shit."

"It is what it is, brother," Bobby replied sagely. "You've certainly had your share of shit on your plate these past couple of years and sometimes the women we care about aren't strong enough to handle it. Believe me, I have _two_ ex-wives to prove it." Bobby paused as he watched two croweaters, Sherry and Dana, as they sashayed on by, avidly eyeing the two bikers. With pretty pouts forming on their painted lips, they continued making their way to the bar as it was obvious that the men didn't want to be disturbed.

"And where is your ex now?" Bobby asked curiously with a raised eyebrow.

Jax chuckled. "If you're wondering if I Adriana'd her, I didn't. As far as I know or care, she's probably in Oregon by now.

"Hey, the thought never even crossed my mind, brother," Bobby claimed with a cheesy grin. "I understand what went down between you two, but I'm just wondering if you taking it in stride like this is all just for show."

Jax rolled his eyes. "Really? I was nineteen, for chrissake's," he exclaimed. "I'm not gonna have a break down over this, trust me. She may have been my first love, but that woman left Charming over ten years ago and never returned. I really don't know who _this_ Tara was and it doesn't matter anymore 'cause I'm over it."

"I hear ya, brother," Bobby assured him. "Just know that your Club is here for you, and we trust that you can handle your shit," he said soberly. Suddenly, Bobby grinned as he spotted the activity at the bar. "Now that your dick is officially off the chain, maybe this old biker should leave you to it." At Jax's confusion, Bobby nodded at several hang-arounds who had their eyes fixed on the SAMCRO Pres. "The croweaters are already circling over your carcass. I think the word is out that you and your old lady have parted ways."

Thinking that Jax was about to dive face first into the pussy buffet, Bobby was rather surprised when Jax stood up and turned his back on the gaggle of women waiting for him. "If it's all the same to you, I think I'll pass on tonight's feast. It's getting kinda late and with Abel at Ma's, I think I'll just crash here."

Bobby shrugged. "No juice out of my apple," he chuckled. "Only means more for me tonight."

Bobby watched as Jax picked up his glass and the bottle of Jack Daniels from the coffee table. Before heading to his dorm, Jax stopped and asked in a casual manner, "I haven't seen Doc around tonight. Any word on when she'll be back?"

Bobby scratched his bristly beard as if in contemplation. "Yeah, I believe she left a message with Phil. Said if she didn't show up tonight, it meant she was spending the night with her aunt at her hotel," he replied. As the light in Jax's eyes dimmed, the older patch leaned back in his seat, barely repressing the desire to snort aloud with laughter.

 _Looks like Ope was dead on_ , Bobby speculated to himself. _Seems like our Marley-girl has softened the blow of Tara's departure for Jax_.

Bidding him a solemn goodnight, Jax made his way to the dorms, ignoring the croweaters lined up for his taking, only to be grievously disappointed as he walked on by.

Chuckling under his breath, Bobby waited until he caught the eye of Sherry, a short and lush blond cutie pie. Beckoning her over with a bawdy wink and a crook of his finger, she made her way over to Bobby with Dana, a saucy brunette trailing her wake. Bobby grinned as the two women settled themselves on either side of him.

 _Poor things_ , he thought as he nuzzled Sherry in the crook of her neck while wrapping his arm around Dana, giving her breast a soft squeeze and tickle. _It looks like you two are late to the party. Something tells me that my boy Jax has already moved on._

* * *

_**Sunday, June 20, 2010** _

Jax had never considered himself to be a restless sleeper, especially not when he was as bone-tired as he had been the night before. However, with the party finally dying down in the Clubhouse, the biker found himself watching the sun rise as the early morning rays snuck into the room through the slats of the window blinds. Casting his eyes towards the end of the bed, he saw how his tossing and turning had caused his blanket to end up on the floor and the lower half of the bed sheet to come undone.

Running a ringed hand over his face and beard, he wiped what little sleep he had managed to get from his eyes and stared blearily at the ceiling. Letting his head fall to the left, Jax gazed at the conspicuously empty space next to him, a sight that was not at all to his liking.

 _Four fuckin' days_ , he thought with more than just a little irritation. _I guess when Doc said she'd 'catch me later' she wasn't joking._

Obviously, Jax reasoned, Marlowe had meant what she said about confining their _relationship_ to one booty call at a time. _Keep things loose and just between us for now_ was how she had phrased it, but hearing that coming from Marlowe had somewhat irked him. After sniffing around each other for so long, it hadn't been what he was expecting to hear now that he had nothing holding him back. Thinking it over, however, he decided it was probably for the best anyway. He and Tara had just come to a very bitter end and the last thing Jax was looking for was more than just a casual bed partner.

At least that was what Jax had spent the last four days trying to convince himself of.

The problem as he saw it was Marlowe herself. She wasn't the kind of woman he was accustomed to, but neither was the restlessness he felt whenever she wasn't around. Usually, for a biker, out of sight meant out of mind. Pussy was always in abundance in the Clubhouse and if Jax couldn't have one, he could certainly have another. But that way of thinking didn't apply to Marlowe. Now that he'd had her, all Jax wanted was Marlowe _all the damn time_.

It was starting to dawn on Jax that maybe Marlowe was more like her brother Happy than he had originally thought. Although Marlowe was definitely more outgoing and not as pensive as Hap, she was just as guarded as he was. Had he not witnessed for himself just how bad her PTSD could get, Jax would have concluded that the former Corpsman had absolutely no chinks in her armor. She had a general "I have no fucks to give" attitude that she applied to all aspects of her life with the exception of her work.

_And when we made love._

Under her strong and independent exterior, Marlowe was a woman that deeply cared for the people entrusted to her care. She had been just as brash and outspoken as Jax himself when it came to her own sexuality, never hiding or denying how much she had wanted him. Jax had expected her to be adventurous, daring and just a little dirty when it came to sex and had not been disappointed. But she had also been sensual, thoughtful and loving as if they had been lovers forever, which had not disappointed him either.

Marlowe was definitely an interesting and flawed package, one Jax intended to continue to unwrap and enjoy—that is, if she ever managed to get her ass back to the lot where she belonged!

Although he had been tied up with preparations for the next run to Arizona, to Jax it seemed as if Doc was making a concerted effort to avoid being in the Clubhouse at the same time as him. But now that he had gotten a taste of the no-holds barred healer-slash-warrior, he was not going to be denied another nibble.

Realizing that there was no way he was going to sleep any more that morning, Jax grabbed a quick shower and threw on some clean clothes. With Abel still over at Gemma's, there were a couple of Club-related matters that needed his attention before he hit the road on Monday. He would be gone for at least three days and Jax wanted to make some time to spend with his son as well.

With Tara now gone, it was important for Jax to step up and be the constant in his son's life. With so much family around to love him, the last thing Jax wanted was for his son to feel abandoned by the woman who had been the closest thing he'd had as a mother. After this last run, Jax was looking forward to staying local for his family.

Thinking he might head to Hanna's for some breakfast, Jax threw on his kutte and, opening the door to his dorm, came to an abrupt stop when he found Filthy Phil bouncing nervously from one foot to another in front of his door.

"Shit!" Jax exclaimed. "You stalking me, Shrek?"

"Um, sorry, sir," the Prospect replied nervously. "I just thought somebody should know that the VP's here, but he don't look too good."

"Why do you say that?" Jax asked with a creased brow as he closed the door behind him.

"Well," Phil started cautiously. "I was cleaning up after last night's party when he roared onto the lot a little before dawn. He came in and tossed a large backpack at me and ordered me to clear out one of the dorms for him. The Veep don't generally stay overnight at the Clubhouse and he looks like he's got enough gear for a week or two in his bag."

 _The Prospect might be right_ , Jax mused. That didn't sound at all good. "Where's he at?" he asked as he started to stride down the hall.

"He took the ladder up to the roof."

"Thanks," Jax replied slapping a hand on Phil's shoulder. "Good looking out, Prospect. Do as he said about the dorm and keep this shit to yourself for now," he added as he headed towards the ladder.

"Yes, sir," Phil replied as he watched Jax's white sneakers disappear from view.

* * *

 _There is definitely a peaceful atmosphere up here_ , Opie thought as he blew out a long trail of smoke from his perch on top of the Clubhouse. Sitting on the roof, Opie always felt like he could escape from the trials and tribulations of living an MC life, even if for just a little while. Today, however, if the Club's gentle giant was honest with himself, he knew that his current frustrations had less to do with the Club and more to do with his personal life.

Hearing the sound of the roof's hatchway retract, Opie looked over his right shoulder and watched as his best friend's head and torso poked through the opening.

"Hey," he said quietly.

"Yo," Jax replied as he continued to climb his way through and Opie watched as he made his way over to him. Offering the joint he had been smoking, Opie sat quietly as Jax took it from him, taking a hit before sitting down next to him and passing it back.

"How'd you know I was up here?" Opie eyed his brother as Jax smirked at him.

"Phil," Jax replied. "He looked like he was about to birth a cow. Being that it's barely seven and you're already blazing trees, I think he made the right call. Plus, I need you to tell me why you came hauling enough gear for a long stay when you've got a wife and kids waiting on you at home."

"Shit, nosy much?" Opie started irritably. "Look, I'm not getting into this shit now—"

"Too fuckin' bad, bro," Jax interrupted with a shake of his blond head. "Don't recall giving you an option. Haven't you heard? _I'm the SAMCRO President_."

"Really?" Opie derided. "You pulling rank? 'Cause it didn't work in middle school, it sure ain't working now."

Jax laughed. "It did too work in middle school," he said with feigned petulance, "but that's not what I'm doing here, Ope. I'm just paying it forward. Or would you rather I get Bobby to schlep his hung-over ass up here instead?" he shot back and watched as a wry grin made its way onto Opie's bearded face.

"He ratted me out, huh?"

Jax shrugged his shoulders. "List of suspects in the know about my shit is short. I would have figured it out eventually."

Opie sighed and ran a large hand over his long hair that was whipping about in the early morning breeze. "It's nothing, Jax. Me and Lyla are just taking a time out for a minute."

"Sorry, bro," Jax said sincerely. "Anything I can do?"

"Can you turn back time?" Opie muttered miserably.

"That bad?" Jax watched as Opie shrugged huge shoulders.

"Its not quite as bad as "my-old-lady-is-a-baby-killer, but its "my-old-lady-won't-give-up-eating-pussy-for-a-living", so it's bad enough," Opie said somewhat bitterly. "I guess neither of us hit pay dirt in the old lady department, huh?"

"I wouldn't say that, Ope," Jax replied. "I've always liked Lyla. She's a beautiful girl and she's sincere and sweet, considering—" he trailed off.

"Considering that she eats pussy for a living?" Opie's lips twisted into a grimace. "Yeah, I think I'm starting to regret taking Gem's advice about marrying her." He watched as Jax rolled his eyes.

"I would say it serves you right for letting Ma into your shit," Jax smirked, "but she wasn't wrong about Lyla, Ope. Wasn't the plan that she'd quit as soon as you knocked her up? I could be wrong, but that ain't happening with you staying at the Clubhouse."

"I don't think there's much of a chance of that happening anyway," Opie responded. "Lyla thinks I'm still not over Donna, which doesn't exactly put her in the mood to procreate."

"Are you?" Jax asked bluntly.

Opie looked into Jax's eyes and shook his head. "Even worse, I don't think I ever want to get over her. I know I'm gonna love Donna until the day I die."

The silence between the two brothers was palpable. "So you never loved Lyla?"

Opie took another hit from his joint before passing it to Jax. "That's just it, brother. I _do_ love her, but maybe we should have waited a little longer. I'm still in the frame of mind that I want to get back what I had with Donna and it's not fair because no two women could be more different than _both_ my wives."

"I agree, and the one biggest, most important difference, bro," Jax started with much sympathy, "is that Lyla's alive."

Opie nodded. "I still think that Donna not being a porn star is _the_ biggest difference, but we'll go with yours," he kidded. "Listen, I get that Lyla doesn't want to stop working because she's never had a man in her life that she could depend on. But that shit's different now and it kinda pisses me off that she doesn't trust me."

"Ope, Lyla's issue about Donna is something I can't help you with. You have to figure that out on your own, bro," Jax advised. "But when it comes to what Lyla ends up doing for a living, I might be able to help you with that."

Opie quirked an eyebrow. "What do you mean?" he asked and sat in silence as Jax outlined a possible position for Lyla in SAMCRO's plan for restructuring. "I like the idea," Opie said thoughtfully after Jax was done, "but that would be something totally new for Lyla. I can't say that she'll go for it."

"If you want to make your life with Lyla work, than it's your job to get her on board, bro," Jax stated matter-of-fact. "Personally, between the two of us, I'd rather be the one never to find happiness again with an old lady. You have more than paid your dues, Ope. I think if you let her know how much you love her, she might come around."

"Maybe," Opie conceded, sounding somewhat optimistic. "All I know is that, at this point, shit has got to get better than this."

Jax stood up. "Then we make it happen, right?" His tone brooked no argument as he held out a hand to his brother and grinned as Opie took it, standing up to hug it out.

"You know, you've gotten really bossy ever since you took the gavel," Opie quipped.

"Membership may have its privileges, but leadership rules!" Jax retorted and turned to head back to the ladder. "Coming with?"

"Nah, you go ahead," Opie waved him away. "Grunt needs a minute to get my dorm ready. I'll catch you later."

"Sure thing," Jax said.

Lowering himself down the ladder, Jax heard soft footfalls making their way out of the Club's gym and into the corridor behind him.

"Hey, handsome. Long time no see."

Landing with a solid thump on the floor, Jax turned around and was faced with the hot, sweaty and lean Marlowe Guthrie, a damp towel casually slung over her shoulders. With her long hair in a sweaty and messy topknot, she was wearing a black tank top over a pair of raggedy PT sweats.

_And she's a fuckin' sight for sore eyes!_

"Well, shit," Jax drawled, a big and wicked grin spreading over his face. "It's about damn time, darlin'!"

Taking two long strides, Jax bent over and hoisted the Club's medic up and over his shoulder, barely muffling her squeal of alarm against his back as he strode down the hall to his dorm.


	32. Chapter 32

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sons of Anarchy. I do, however, own Marlowe and any other OCs that appear in the 2 Sons Universe.**

* * *

_**Sunday, June 20, 2010** _

Dangling over Jax's shoulder, the blood was quickly rushing to Marlowe's head, making her feel giddy. Convinced that he was taking his sweet ass time in opening the door to his dorm just to torture her, she decided to goose him along by, um well, goosing him.

"Hey, your hands are cold!" Jax laughed as Marlowe practically dove into the back of his baggy jeans and boxers to squeeze his incredibly well-muscled ass cheeks.

"Well, you might wanna move it along there, Pres," Marlowe drawled, "before I pass out here."

Finally getting the door unlocked, Jax stepped into his room. Closing and locking the door behind him, he dropped Marlowe onto her feet right in front of him.

"It's about damn time," Marlowe complained playfully with a saucy smile.

"You got that right," Jax replied with a wicked smile of his own. Before she knew what hit her, the handsome outlaw biker was on her like white on rice.

Cupping her face tenderly in his ringed hands, Jax held her steady as he plundered her mouth hungrily. Mewling softly, Marlowe curled her fingers into the taut skin of his waist under the t-shirt he wore, meeting his aggressiveness with an intensity to match. It had been a while since they first had sex and for the life of her, Marlowe couldn't remember what had kept her away until now.

Breaking their clinch with a wet, smacking pop, Marlowe smiled up at Jax. "Mmmmm," she purred, her eyes a hazy gray like the sky right before a thunderstorm. "I love the way you say hello."

"I'm not done yet, darlin'," Jax growled sexily as he started undressing, his kutte landing on the chair by the door and his white kicks on the other side of the room. After pulling off his t-shirt, in one seemingly fluid motion, Jax rid Marlowe of her tank top _and_ sports bra.

"Oh no, outlaw," she exclaimed as she tried to smack Jax's hands away from the waist band of her sweats. "I just spent 90 minutes in the gym after my morning run. You at least have to give me a chance to take a quickie shower first," she demanded, trying to cover her naked breasts and keep her pants on at the same time.

Jax pursed his lips as if in consideration, but quickly shook his head. "Nah, I'm good," he replied, reaching for her again. "I like ya dirty."

"Oh, I don't doubt that," Marlowe laughed as Jax swallowed her up in his embrace and just like that, her sweatpants and underwear were pooled around her ankles. "But do you like me stinky too?"

Jax's eyes closed as he inhaled deeply. "All I smell is you, darlin'. An incredibly hot and sexy woman I'm dying to do very bad things to."

"Well, shit," Marlowe smiled, her head cocked to the side. "Don't you just have a way with words," she said as she quickly kicked off her trainers and socks.

Watching as Marlowe stepped out of her discarded clothing, Jax took a sidestep and grabbed a condom from on top of the dresser. Undoing his SAMCRO belt buckle, Jax let his eyes roam over her flawless skin of peaches and cream. Her tight little body was well-conditioned while still maintaining a feminine suppleness that drove Jax crazy. Although Marlowe was all long and shapely limbs, her hips were womanly and her breasts full and real. Nowhere near a D—closer to a full B—her tits were firm, round and pert, more than enough to fit quite snugly in his large palms and he loved that.

Biting his lip, Jax reached out and grabbed her hand, pulling her flush against him. "You been avoiding me, Doc?" he asked as loosened her light caramel-colored hair from its topknot.

Marlowe shook her head slightly, her hair cascading over her bare shoulders and down her back. "No, just been busy."

Tilting her chin up, forcing her gaze to meet his, Jax let his thumb softly graze her full bottom lip. "You miss me?"

Marlowe bit her lip, teasingly scraping his thumb with her teeth. "I did," she said softly. "You miss me?"

Running his slightly-callused mechanic hands down the curve of her back, Jax let them slide down her hips and over the tight, little round bubble she had for an ass. Cupping her cheeks, he pulled her forward until she was pressed against his erection.

"I did," he smiled devilishly.

"Well, hello!" Marlowe exclaimed. Coiling her arms around his neck, Jax nuzzled her throat, alternately peppering it with gentle kisses and sucking bruises into her skin.

"Unzip me," he breathed against her mouth before biting into her lip, sending a bolt of electricity down to her core. Immediately dropping to her weakened knees, Marlowe fumbled with his zipper.

Stepping out of his jeans and boxers, Jax watched mesmerized as Marlowe wrapped her tight little fist around his length and gave him a couple of long, slow strokes. She felt a familiar warmth pool in her lower belly and slowly seep into the area between her legs at the sound of his groan-slash-growl. Sneaking a look up and catching Jax watching her intently, Marlowe arched an eyebrow as she ran her tongue over her bottom lip and smiled. With an equally seductive grin, Jax guided his cock into her eager mouth with his hand, sucking in air through his teeth as her tongue flicked softly over the smooth, sensitive surface of the head.

The "holy fuck" that escaped his lips sounded like a whispered prayer as her lips wrapped tightly around him. Teasing him a bit, Marlowe started bobbing her head and, relaxing her throat, took him all in. Jax closed his eyes, his hand gently fisted in her hair as he enjoyed the incredibly gratifying sensation of her throat closing in around him.

The Clubhouse and the lot were eerily silent as the only sounds to be heard were Marlowe's slurping and sucking and an occasional grunt or sigh from Jax. Pulling back, she dipped her head and lapped at his balls with her tongue, gently sucking first one and then the other into her warm, moist mouth.

"Oh fuck!" Jax growled as his balls tightened and softly pushed her away before he came in her mouth.

Feeling him almost vibrate with tension, Marlowe grabbed the condom Jax was holding and used her free hand to rip the foil packet open with her teeth. Letting the wrapper fall from her mouth, Marlowe met his gaze full-on as she rolled the rubber onto his erection.

When she was done, Jax guided Marlowe back onto her feet and pulled her towards him, their lips meeting once again, this time in a lazy but lusty kiss. Marlowe was marveling at his ability to make her head spin with just his mouth on hers when Jax suddenly and effortlessly picked her up, as if she weighed no more than a child. Taken by surprise, Marlowe gasped, his strength breathtaking and just a little frightening. Wrapping her long legs around his lean waist, their eyes locked as she felt his impossibly hard cock tease at her slick entrance.

"Oh God, Jax," she moaned breathily, one hand braced on his muscled shoulder and the other lost in his now-messy blond locks. Before she could implore for him to take her, with one smooth motion Jax filled her completely. They groaned in unison as he buried his face in the crook of her neck, his teeth nipping at her tender skin and sending shockwaves through her already electrified body.

"Shit, baby," Jax nearly growled as she widened to accommodate his long and heavy length and then automatically tightened around him. "You feel so fuckin' good."

He did too, but Marlowe couldn't speak. Her body and all of her nerve-endings were suddenly flooded with too much sensation. All her brain was capable of processing at the moment was the ecstasy he was giving her and he hadn't even moved yet. With his fingers practically digging into her ass cheeks, Jax thrust upward and into her.

"Oh yes!" Marlowe cried out involuntarily, prompting Jax to pump harder, moving in and out as he guided her up and down along the span of his dick. Their breaths mingled as he kissed her savagely, his mouth matching the rhythm of their frenzied fucking.

"Marley, shit!" Jax exclaimed through clenched teeth a moment later as he felt her orgasm explode around him. How she could possibly get any tighter he didn't know, but he momentarily felt weak in the knees as her walls closed in on him.

Marlowe cried out as she came, the feeling of completeness that Jax inspired within her making tears spring to her eyes from the sheer beauty of it. The sticky sweet juices of her orgasm drenched her inner thighs and his cock as Jax continued slamming her down onto him, faster and harder as he whispered beautifully obscene things to her.

"Oh!" Marlowe bit her lip and dug her nails into Jax's shoulder, leaving little half-moon imprints on his skin. Once again, her inner muscles clenched and unclenched as a second—quickly followed by a third—orgasm broke over her like a tidal wave.

Only as the last of her involuntary convulsions ceased did Marlowe feel Jax tense underneath her touch. With his hands locked down on her hips, Jax emitted a rough, guttural groan as his cock gave several violent twitches before he came. _Hard_. With her arms now wrapped around his neck and her head cradled on his shoulder, Marlowe clung to him as he groaned and thrust a few more times into her before he was done.

Marlowe felt her eyes drift closed languidly as Jax used one hand to gently brush her hair away from her face before placing tender kisses on her cheek and mouth. Carrying her over to his bed, Jax kneeled on the mattress and lay Marlowe down, her legs still wrapped around his waist. Sinking into the softness of the mattress, she broke her hold on him and watched him pull out. Tossing the used condom into the wastebasket by his nightstand, Jax let himself fall next to Marlowe, pulling her into his arms so he could spoon her.

Basking in the warmth of his body heat that practically seared itself into her skin, Marlowe wanted to hold onto the soreness she felt inside her as a reminder of their passion. Jax was due to head out with the Club for their last run to Arizona on Monday and she knew she would miss him.

_Not as much as you'll miss him when you're back in Bakersfield._

Feeling a sudden pang in her heart, Marlowe violently bit into her upper lip. Whether she'd done it to suppress a frown or hold back tears, she wasn't sure.

* * *

_**Wednesday, June 23, 2010** _

Sitting in his favorite seat at the bar, Piney Winston contemplated bumming a cigarette off the Prospect doling out the alcohol.

 _Fuck my emphysema_ , the old biker thought irritably as he knocked back the contents of his shot glass. _I've been alive too damn long anyway._

It had been the first time in weeks since the ornery biker had last been seen on the lot. However, he wasn't exactly what many would call overly sociable, so living like a hermit in his cabin suited him just fine. Piney hadn't always been that way, but recalling the much happier days of his youth only served to make him miss his best friend as if he had died only yesterday.

John Teller had meant the world to Piney Winston. As soldiers of the 25th Infantry, they had become blood brothers on the battlefield and that had not changed when U.S. Forces pulled out of Vietnam. Upon their discharge from the Army, the two friends had made their way home, going their separate ways as John returned to Modesto and Piney dragged his feet back to the Winston family farm in Michigan.

Considering that those who survived the war wanted nothing more than to forget about it, at the time Piney believed it unlikely that he would ever see his friend again. He was proven wrong, however, when several months later JT had turned up on his doorstep. Riding a Harley, JT wanted his best friend along for the ride as he embarked on an adventure of a lifetime: the pursuit of a peace-loving, nomadic way of life on the road. Having never really taken to life as a farmer as his father and grandfather had before him, Piney hadn't needed much convincing. Quickly gathering what money he had and a duffel bag containing all of his worldly possessions, Piney jumped into his old pick-up truck and, never looking back, followed JT into the unknown, eventually co-founding the Sons of Anarchy Motorcycle Club Redwood Original.

In his wildest dreams Piney never would have thought that he would end up _here_ , some 40 years later and barely breathing, with his best friend gone to an early grave going on now seventeen years. He sure as shit had never expected to live long enough to see JT's son take over the Club, but he had. With the Club well on the way to self-destruction thanks to the Galindo deal, now Piney was starting to doubt that Jax was any different from his stepfather like he had hoped. Sure that there was no hope in saving his and JT's legacy, Piney had willfully cut himself off from SAMCRO. That is, until he had been _ordered_ to return to the fold by the new Pres. Instead of ignoring Jax like he had planned, Piney decided that now was his last chance to put the screws to the young Turk about fixing that which was broken.

Just then, Piney felt the heavy weight of a hand slap down on his shoulder. Turning around on his stool, he found himself swallowed up into a tight hug.

"Look who the fuck finally decided to crawl out of his cave," Jax Teller said as he pulled back to look into the inscrutable eyes of his best friend's father. "I was afraid you had died up there, old man."

"That was the plan," Piney drawled, "until _someone_ 'ordered' me to get my ass down here. I figured what the hell, now's as good a time as any to put my foot up yours."

Jax's brow wrinkled as he frowned slightly. "Shit, for some reason, I feel like I'm twelve again," he stated as he gave a nod to the Prospect. Taking the glass of whiskey Filthy Phil poured for him, Jax said, "Let's have a seat and discuss this need you have to kick my ass and I'll tell you why I want to return the favor."

Piney watched as Jax headed towards the Chapel. Grabbing his own glass and a bottle of Patrón, he followed behind him.

Watching from the doorway as Jax sat down at the head of the table, the older man could see that there was something different about the way Jax carried himself. Although still full of his usual swagger, Jax moved with purpose and a shitload of authority. Closing the door behind him, Piney pulled out the seat next to Jax and sat down, placing his glass and drink of choice on the table. "You look good, son, considering recent events in your personal life."

Jax pulled out a pack of smokes and lit one. "So you heard about that, huh?"

"Yeah, Ope filled me in," Piney replied in his tequila-soaked growl. "You know, this life can be pretty tough on broads. Not all of them are like Gemma. Mary, Colleen, Precious—they all buckled under the pressure. For your sake, I had hoped that the surgeon wouldn't. I'm sorry about how that worked out for you."

"I'm good with it, Piney," Jax assured him.

"Yeah, I'm definitely getting that vibe," Piney grinned wryly, knowing more about Jax's relationship with the Club medic than Jax probably knew himself. "I have to say, it's too bad JT's not around to see the man that you've become, son. I know he would have been proud of you."

"I don't know about that, Piney," Jax sighed. "If I've learned anything about my father from reading his manuscript, I know he would have hated how shit's turned out, for me _and_ for the Club."

"That may be true, but he'd still be proud of you. You stepped up and have handled your business like a man, but it's time for you to make good on those promises you made to me," the older man focused his pale blue eyes on Jax.

Having just returned from their last run to Arizona, the last thing Jax had been looking forward to was having to rehash Cartel bullshit with Piney. Considering, however, that Piney hadn't ignored him when Jax requested his presence back in Charming by the time he returned, he felt he owed it to the old man to finally clue him in on what his plans were for SAMCRO.

Looking at the grim determination in Piney's old eyes, Jax sat back in his chair and ran a hand through his hair before addressing his best friend's father, a man he considered a mentor. Nonetheless, Jax refused to hold back his anger. "Have I ever not made good on a promise, Piney? While you've been up at the cabin getting stoned and drunk, not doing shit, I've been doing my best to make things happen."

Piney pointed a thick index finger at his President. "So after 40-some-odd years as not only a member but co-founder of this MC, _you_ telling _me_ I don't have the right to enjoy my 'golden years'?" he said snidely.

"Shit don't change and soon, we'll _all_ be enjoying our golden years as guests of the California Federal Prison system, Piney," Jax retorted sarcastically. "Worse, most of us will probably end up dead first."

"So why you bitchin' at me? I could have saved us all a lot of grief if you had just let me shoot the bastard that used to occupy the chair you're sitting in now, boy," Piney argued.

"Anarchy doesn't mean chaos, brother," Jax started meaningfully. "Without due process, your ass would have followed Clay into a grave."

"You think I didn't know that?" Piney asked gruffly. "I was ready to meet Mr. Mayhem if it meant freeing this Club from Clay's greedy paws."

"Sorry I ruined your happy ending, Clint Eastwood, but Ope had already lost enough," Jax responded, referring to the call Clay had made that resulted in Donna's death. "Besides, there's only so much I can fuckin' do with my father's manuscript for guidance. I need you too."

Jax watched as the righteous anger left Piney, deflating his shoulders until it seemed like the old man was in danger of collapsing within himself.

"You have no idea what it's like to sit in this chair and have to make the hard calls," Jax continued softly. "I didn't either until I yanked the gavel from Clay. I'm not defending him, but I can understand now how he ended up making some bad calls with the best of intentions. I know you hate the fact that I backed Clay on this Cartel deal, but at the time, it was a necessary evil and, for the time being, it still is." He watched as Piney poured himself another shot and downed it.

"So the Club keeps muling drugs for the Cartel, raking in money hand over fist," Piney snorted with anger, "in spite of the fact that its dirty business is responsible not only for Armando's death, but the Clubhouse getting shot up and Kozik nearly getting blown to Hell. I got that right, Pres?"

"Believe it or not, Piney, there is an end game in the works," Jax shot back. "But just like the Club didn't go to shit overnight, it's not going to make a comeback overnight either. It's going to take a little time."

"A little time? You mean like the 'little time' you've already been given to make shit right?" Piney blustered. "The way I see things, this Club doesn't have the luxury of time, Jax. It has been steeped in fear and greed for too long now. You gotta cut that shit out like cancer before it destroys us and everything that made SAMCRO great in the first place."

"And one way to make sure that it destroys us is by walking away from the Cartel deal, Piney. You said so yourself, the Cartel gets to decide when we're done, so our business with Galindo will go on for as long as it has to. With _that_ issued settled between us," Jax stated firmly, leaving no room for further debate regarding the Cartel, "if you want to help this Club get back on the right track, old man, then its time for you to put your _money_ where your mouth is," the SAMCRO Pres said tersely, "which is why I ordered your ass back down here. Now, are you willing to set aside your grievances about the Cartel and move on to something that might actually benefit the Club in the long run?"

Piney eyed the angry young man for a moment as he downed yet another shot of tequila. "Shit," Piney murmured soberly. "For a minute, you sounded just like Clay." Feeling firmly put back into his place, Piney relented. "So shoot. What's this master plan of yours for fixing SAMCRO?"

* * *

_**Thursday, June 24, 2010** _

Using the scissors from her med kit to cut a length of bandage from its roll, Marlowe finished wrapping it around the small splint she had fashioned to immobilize Lowell's broken index finger. "That should do it," she declared as she started gathering her supplies. "Although I still think you should go to the hospital for an x-ray," Marlowe suggested to the sheepish mechanic sitting across the table from her.

It was barely 9:00 in the morning and, as usual, Marlowe's day was jammed-packed with a number of appointments and errands to run in Stockton _before_ visiting Amelia in Modesto and Kozik back in Charming. The Club medic hadn't bargained on getting a late start to her day by having to tend to T-M's superstar mechanic, a recovering Meth addict and something of an institution on the lot.

Lowell Harlan Jr. had a longstanding association with the Club. After his father, Lowell Harlan Sr., himself a brilliant mechanic with a drug problem, had disappeared when Lowell was fifteen, Clay Morrow had taken the young man under his wing. Clay mentored the teenager for years, shaping him into a master mechanic. Unfortunately, unresolved issues regarding his father had plagued Lowell and soon he had followed in his old man's footsteps, losing himself in drugs and alcohol. Only through the concern and affection Clay had for Lowell was the young mechanic finally able to get the help he needed to get himself clean. Lowell had an enduring loyalty to SAMCRO, Clay in particular, and was one of the best mechanics to have ever worked at the garage. So it had been something of a surprise when Marlowe had been called upon by Gemma to patch him up.

"You need to be more careful, Lowell," Marlowe admonished. "With Wade still out and Kozik in the hospital, there's not much I can do for you after Gemma completely loses her shit if you get seriously hurt too."

Lowell grinned wryly, shoving a hank of overgrown brown hair away from his eyes. "I know. She said I was lucky I could still work with a broken finger on my left hand. Had it been my right, I think she would have broken all the rest just to teach me a lesson."

"You got that shit right," Gemma retorted as she walked into the Clubhouse and sauntered towards them. The SAMCRO matriarch was wearing a pair of skin tight leggings and a lightweight see-through crochet top, the camisole she wore underneath barely covering her cleavage. "Especially if you had been, you know—" she paused to tap two fingers on the vein in the crook of her arm as she stared down a suddenly-squirming Lowell.

"No Gemma, I mean, no ma'am," Lowell blustered. "I'm clean, honest to God. I was just stupid enough to let my finger get between me and a car hood is all."

Marlowe rolled her eyes as she watched the Queen crack the whip. "Just checking, Lowell," Gemma finally said, gently laying a hand on his arm. "We don't want any bad shit happening to you."

 _Sometimes I think Gemma is all bark and no bite_ , Marlowe thought and then smiled ruefully. _Man, if_ _I_ _believe that shit, maybe I'm the one who's shooting up_.

"Well, go on. I'm sure you can still find something to work on in the garage," Gemma said archly and watched as Lowell abruptly excused himself. Turning to offer Marlowe his thanks, he quickly left the Clubhouse.

"Boy, you sure are a terror in high heels, aren't ya?" Marlowe snarked as Gemma pulled out a chair to sit down.

"You're just getting the memo, Doc?"

"Nah, I clued into that shit on the day we met," Marlowe smiled. "It's definitely an impressive skill set you've developed there."

"Hey, I do have to keep the troops in line," Gemma quipped as she sat back in her chair and eyed the younger woman.

 _And it's about time I took you in hand_ , she thought with some amusement. Knowing that Marlowe was a bit of a handful herself, Gemma wasn't so sure how possible that would be. At the very least, her son's new favorite past time would put that impressive skill set of hers to the test.

It had been almost a week since Clay had dropped the time bomb of Marlowe Guthrie's possible connection to Kozik in her lap. Gemma had promised Clay that she would investigate the situation and gather Intel, but Gemma was quickly learning that that was easier said than done. The Club's doc wasn't exactly what she would call the talky-type, which under different circumstances, Gemma would admire. But considering it had worked against her in finding out what she needed to know, it was starting to annoy her.

As a matter of fact, had Lowell not been so accommodating by accidentally breaking a finger, Gemma might have considered doing it herself if it meant keeping Marlowe on the lot long enough to corner her into a conversation. It seemed like the young woman was always on the go and constantly away from the Clubhouse. Marlowe was certainly keeping herself busy. In addition to being on call in case she was needed by the Club, she was spending large blocks of time with Kozik at St. Thomas.

_Not to mention keeping company with the SAMCRO President every chance she gets, both of them thinking no one's none the wiser._

And, Gemma realized, she was grateful they were "together", whatever that meant for her son at the moment.

The abrupt departure of Jax's old lady had caused quite a stir on the SAMCRO gossip circuit, and while the old ladies were smart enough not to discuss the subject around her, Gemma knew that the SAMCRO President's new single status was not lost on anyone. With word of Tara Knowles having left Charming on very bad terms with Jax, the number of croweaters and porn stars on the lot had increased exponentially. It was almost as if hunting season had been declared and there was a giant bull's eye on Jackson Teller's ass.

Although Gemma wanted nothing more than for her son to move on, doing so with the plethora of cheap pussy in the Clubhouse was the last thing Jax needed to do. The first time Tara had left Charming, Jax had lost himself in whiskey, weed and women, eventually marrying Wendy Case, a junky croweater in an obvious attempt to cure his loneliness.

 _Fortunately this time around, all the bitches throwing themselves at my son are shit outta luck_ , Gemma thought to herself with a grin as she eyed the Club medic. Her son had wasted no time in finally pushing up on Marlowe. In spite of the fact that it wasn't openly discussed among the inner circle, it was well-known that the two of them had become something of an "item".

Gemma had no problem with that. If Jax needed to purge Tara from his system by hitting some new pussy, he could certainly do a lot worse than Marlowe. It was obvious that she wasn't like Tara or any of the hang-arounds, but the Kozik situation had the potential of getting ugly, especially with Marlowe's brother who was more of a surrogate father, to Gemma's way of thinking. And that was the reason why she was intent on getting some answers for her old man.

"So," Gemma drawled, "you gotta a busy day planned?"

Marlowe shrugged her shoulders as she zipped her backpack closed. "Not much around here. I have some errands to run, but I'll be back to check on Kozik after visiting with Amelia or Hap's gonna put a foot up my ass for neglecting my family obligations."

 _Perfect opening_ , Gemma thought and smiled cheerfully. "How is Amelia coming along?"

"Really well, actually," Marlowe smiled. "Her physical therapist is working on getting her to move around using a cane instead of a walker."

"That must make your brother happy."

Standing up, Marlowe cocked her hip to the side as she hefted her med kit onto her shoulder. "Yeah. Hap can be a real asshole at times, but if there is one truly endearing thing about him it's how much he loves his mother."

"Somehow, I get the feeling that she's not the only one he loves that way. He seems to be pretty protective of you too," Gemma said archly. "That shit comes from years of caring."

Marlowe blinked her eyes rapidly, surprise evident on her face. "I never would have thought that was something anyone would have clued into. I mean, Hap does tend to keep his feelings on lock down, even from me."

"True, but I've been an old lady long enough to know how to read these men, including Happy. He's not what you would call touchy-feely, but he's not an uncaring man. He's loyal and protective, and not just when it comes to his immediate family, but with his Club as well. He would hate to hear me say it, but he is definitely one of the good ones," Gemma explained. "But you know this. I mean, Amelia told me how he just showed up with you one day and declared you a member of the family. I'm sure it's a heart-warming story," she continued watching as Marlowe's heather gray eyes narrowed suspiciously. "I'd love to hear it if you're not too busy."

"Uh, yeah, well," Marlowe hedged. "It's really not all that interesting and now is a really bad time. I need to drop this off in my room before I hit the road," she nodded at the bag on her shoulders and quickly turned towards the dorms.

"I guess I'll have to take a rain check on that story then," Gemma called out as she watched the woman take long strides down the hall and grimaced.

 _Well shit! That sure didn't go off as planned_ , Gemma thought begrudgingly as she stood up and headed towards the kitchen for a hit of coffee. Grabbing a mug, the SAMCRO matriarch poured herself a cup and added two sugars before taking a healthy gulp. Leaning against the counter she watched as Marlowe swiftly returned from the dorms and headed straight for the Clubhouse exit.

_ That _ _is a closed-mouthed bitch if I ever met one. But if at first you don't succeed, you wear 'em down until you do._

* * *

_Nobody likes a fat old lady but even_ _I_ _can't resist Bobby's banana bread_ , Gemma thought as she walked out of the stuffy office to head over to the Clubhouse.

It had been a long and busy afternoon at the garage and she would be grateful when the day was finally over. Before heading home, maybe she would stop by and visit with her grandson for a while. That beautiful little angel always brightened her day.

It had been a little over a week since Tara had left Charming and even though she hated the doctor bitch with every breath in her body, Gemma couldn't help but feel awful about how her leaving had affected Abel. Just a couple of months shy of his second birthday, Abel was a sweet-natured baby. Golden-haired and with his father's sweet smile, he was a naturally exuberant baby and had been developing into quite a chatterbox as he learned new words everyday. But with Tara now gone, there was a definite void in her grandson's life and it was clear that the little boy knew something wasn't right with his world. Gemma was grateful that they still had Elyda to care for him during the day. At least that routine part of Abel's life remained unchanged.

And he had his father.

With the last run to Arizona having come to an end just this week, Gemma knew that Jax was looking forward to staying local for the time being as he wanted to focus on raising his son. It was no secret that while still with Tara, Jax had spent a lot of time away from home and, unfortunately, Abel. Although not as overtly sensitive as his brother from another mother Opie, it was clear to Gemma that Jax bitterly regretted letting his personal shit interfere with being a good father. Now that he was ready to move on, however, Jax was determined to spend the necessary amount of time reconnecting with his little boy and nothing could make Gemma happier as Jax and Abel were the two most important people in her life. She valued their happiness more than life itself, hers or anyone else's who tried to get in between her boys and their happy ending.

Halfway across the lot, Gemma turned her head as she heard the familiar sound of her son's ride as he made his way onto the lot and into his parking space. Making an abrupt turn, she sauntered her way over to Jax as he got off his ride, hanging his helmet on the handlebars.

"Hey, baby," she said cheerfully and grinned as he reached over to kiss her on the cheek. "Wasn't expecting you back so soon. Everything go okay?"

"Yeah, without a hitch," Jax replied as he removed his bike gloves and tossed them into his saddlebag. "Didn't see the point in hanging around Lake Tahoe."

"You didn't ride back by yourself, did you?" Gemma asked concerned.

Jax shook his head as he wrapped an arm around his mother's shoulders. "Why you worried, Mom? The Italians are our friends," he replied with a grin as he walked them both towards the Clubhouse.

"It's not the Italians I worry about," Gemma retorted. Entering the Clubhouse, she headed straight for the bar to grab a couple of beers from the fridge. Popping the caps off, she handed one to her grateful son who took a long pull at the bottle. "Jimmy Cacuzza and Clay go way back. It's everyone else that scares the shit out of me. You shouldn't be riding alone, especially not after what happened to Armando."

Gemma watched as Jax pulled out a bar stool and sat down. "That shit's been taken care of, Ma. 'Sides, I came back with the guys. They just stopped by Hanna's to get something to eat."

"Good," Gemma squeezed his arm companionably. "How is Jimmy doing? Haven't seen him in years. He was just a soldier for the Family back when SAMCRO was starting up the gun business, you know. We played a big role in the Italians' fight to keep control over their territory. Jimmy has always been indebted to the Sons and I think it's great that the Club can finally focus on working with the local crews again."

Jax nodded in what could be perceived as agreement as he took another pull from his beer. All Jax needed was for the stars in his galaxy to align themselves just right because if he could have his way, the Sons would soon be out the gun-running business. _Permanently_. That, however, was for now a closely-guarded secret, even from his own mother.

"Baby, I know this Cartel deal brought a lot of heat on you and even though heavy is the head that wears the crown, you've handled your shit amazingly, just like I knew you would," Gemma smiled as she gently swiped some loose strands of hair away from his face.

"Thanks, Ma," he replied before taking her hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. Taking a final pull of beer, Jax placed the empty bottle on the bar top and looked around the main room casually. "It's a ghost town in here today, huh?"

"Yeah," Gemma nodded. "We were getting slammed, so I put a few of the Prospects to work in the garage. Hope that's okay."

"If anyone can break a grunt in and whip him into shape, it's you, Ma," Jax smiled as he jumped off the stool. "I'm gonna hit the shower for a minute, maybe get a couple of hours shut eye before I go home to Abel." Sauntering off towards the dorms, Jax stopped and turned around. "You haven't seen Doc around, have ya?"

 _A-ha! And we finally get to the meat of it all_ , Gemma thought cynically as she eyed her son's impassive stare. "Uh, yeah. I did, actually," she said in a noncommittal tone.

Jax paused for a beat as he eyed his mother. "And?" he queried.

"Oh, um, I think she had a couple of errands to run, and then she was going to see Happy's mom," Gemma watched as her son nodded before finishing her sentence. "And then she was going to spend the afternoon with Kozik."

Over the years, Gemma had developed a pretty good game face. As the old lady of two former SAMCRO Presidents it had often come in handy when it came to vetting a situation without giving the other party a head's up. This time was no different as, during an unguarded moment, she noted her son's brow crease and mouth tighten.

"I thought that's where she was yesterday when we returned from Arizona," Jax commented with a slightly irritable edge in his voice.

"It was," Gemma replied off-handedly. "Actually, I think she checks on him _every_ day, but I really don't keep track of her schedule. Is that a problem?" She watched as her son shoved two balled up fists into the pockets of his baggy jeans.

"No problem," he said quietly. "After all, she is the Club's medic. Just thought I'd find her _at the Club_ from time to time, that's all. I'll catch you later, Ma."

Gemma watched as he turned and headed towards the dorms, his swagger not as lighthearted as it had been earlier.

"Shit," she muttered. "I just pissed all over his Cheerios, didn't I?"

_This is not good at all._

Gemma knew her son well. A lover of the ladies who never lacked for company, as far as she could remember Jax had never been the jealous type when it came to pussy. As a general rule, all Clubhouse pussy was up for grabs as long as no patch had slapped his ink on her. Although Gemma had known pretty much from the beginning that MC rules did not apply one way or another where Marlowe was concerned, she was getting the vibe that Jax was none too happy about Marlowe spending so much of her free time with Kozik.

 _He almost sounded hurt by the fact that she hadn't been around when he returned from Arizona_ , Gemma noted.

After all, it was no secret that Kozik was one of the more popular patches with the croweaters since his move down from Tacoma. Only a few years younger than herself, Kozik was a handsome sweetheart of an outlaw. Gemma could recall hearing Marlowe refer to him as the "beach boy biker" or "surfer dude" on several occasions and there had been a hint of admiration in such talk. Not to mention the fact that Marlowe had quickly bonded with Kozik during her early days in Charming. As a matter of fact, both Kozik and Tig had taken quite a liking to the young woman and Gemma was willing to bet that neither man would have kicked Marlowe out of bed for eating crackers.

Gemma could almost see the seed of doubt plant itself in Jax's mind. If she knew her son, he was probably at this very moment contemplating the possibility of Doc being more than just a friend to Kozik and that was bad. Bad for her son. Bad for Marlowe, but especially bad for Kozik. Shit could get dangerously twisted if Jax convinced himself that Marlowe was doing more than just "visiting" with Kozik, which made getting background information on Marlowe all the more important.

_Because it'd be a damn shame to have to bury Kozik in a shallow grave._

* * *

Marlowe strode down the hallway towards the elevator located in the west wing of St. Thomas. On her shoulders rested her backpack which she was using to smuggle into the hospital a huge double cheeseburger with all the fixings, French fries and a thick chocolate shake from Hanna's for Kozik. Tired of hearing the bed-bound biker whine about having to eat overcooked chicken and soggy vegetables, she had finally caved when Kozik claimed he was on the verge of dying of malnutrition. It was a good sign, after all, that he was so focused on complaining about the food considering that it had been days since she last heard him complain about pain in his leg. With his progress labeled as "outstanding" by his doctors, Kozik was due for transfer into the same rehabilitation center as Amelia the following week. The greasy, fatty treat she was about to deliver would probably be his last for a while, or at least until he was up and about again.

Marlowe grinned to herself as she thought about the spiky-haired patch. It had taken her by surprise just how quickly she had formed a strong attachment to the sweeter half of Beavis and Butthead. She could honestly say that Kozik had been the first real friend she had made since leaving the Navy behind. As a friend and as the Club's generously-paid medic, Marlowe felt duty-bound to spend as much time as possible with him not only to make sure he was getting the best care possible, but to keep his mind off his worries. Although at times Kozik felt like a loser for not being on hand when his Club needed him, most of his concerns centered around his fear of becoming once again opiate-dependent thanks to the pain meds administered by the hospital.

Kozik was proud of the fact that he was going on 30 years sober and even though he did smoke the occasional joint, he had no intention of becoming a full-on junky once again by getting hooked on prescription drugs. He had finally admitted to Marlowe his fear of relapsing during one of their many afternoon conversations. Kozik hadn't even contacted his own brother in San Diego to let him know he was in the hospital, afraid that Lew would drop everything to be by his side out of fear that he would relapse. He had already caused enough trouble for his older brother and wanted to keep this shit to himself until he was at least out of the hospital and in physical therapy.

Fighting her own battles with PTSD, Marlowe could truly understand his reasoning and sympathized with Kozik. She had been on a cocktail of potentially habit-forming anxiety medications for years and had made the decision to slowly wean herself off out of fear of having to depend on them forever for any peace of mind. Marlowe had just decided one day that she preferred living with the unpredictability of PTSD than having to endure a chemical numbness that made it almost impossible to _feel_ anything. She couldn't cry, or even laugh. She had been living in a constant state of nothing, feeling almost dead inside. As a matter of fact, Marlowe had experienced her first orgasm in almost five years with Jax, and boy, was she ever glad she had taken the initiative to stop taking most of her meds by then.

After finally flushing the drugs out of her system, it soon became clear that being unmedicated had its benefits—amazing orgasms aside. Marlowe had started meditating as part of her daily workout routine and had learned to control her anxiety through breathing exercises. That in itself had been incredible, but she soon learned to apply those same techniques when it came to her insomnia. She wouldn't consider herself "cured", but her bouts of sleeplessness had been lessening, which in turn helped with her anxiety thus proving that everything was related and that medications weren't always the correct answer.

Regaining the confidence she had lost after being put on temporary disability by the Navy, Marlowe decided that maybe she was finally ready to talk about her experiences, both good and bad. On the sly, she had made a trip to the VA Clinic located at the San Joaquin Hospital in Stockton. At first, the thought of talking to a shrink automatically put her on the defensive. She didn't need anybody else fuckin' around with her head. But the VA psychiatrist she had been referred to, Dr. Marcia Bellows, specialized in treating patients with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Dr. Bellows was a 50-something retired Army Major and a pretty tough bitch to boot. She had managed to get Marlowe to do something that neither she nor Happy were big on: talking to complete strangers. Soon Marlowe found herself sharing some of the worst of her battlefield memories and had come clean about taking herself off of the medication she had been prescribed back when first diagnosed with PTSD.

While Dr. Bellows had given her a dressing down for coming off her meds without consulting a doctor first, she did find it promising that Marlowe was able to cope without them. She commended Marlowe for keeping herself in excellent physical condition and encouraged her to keep herself busy, not allowing herself time to dwell on her past experiences and focusing on the future.

"Doing things for others can do wonders for your outlook on life and will help keep your demons at bay," Dr. Bellows advised. "Corpsman, you will _always_ suffer with PTSD because our experiences make us who we are. You have managed to find a measure of peace through sketching, meditation and exercise. Not everyone can, so embrace it and make the most of it," she counseled.

Taking the doctor's advice to heart, Marlowe had thrown herself into Club life, helping others and focusing her energies on seeing Kozik through his recovery process. Marlowe and Tig had combined their efforts into doing their best to keep his spirits up to the point where she was starting to feel somewhat guilty. With all that she had going on, it had been nearly a week since she had laid her eyes on both Amelia and Celia and had earned herself an earful over the phone, courtesy of the two snarky Latinas.

 _Dealing with one cranky Cuban woman is one thing; getting jumped on by two is cruel and unusual punishment_ , Marlowe thought, a wry grin crossing her face as she continued her way down the hospital corridor.

Nodding pleasantly to a number of nurses and orderlies she had become acquainted with during her time in Charming as she passed them by, Marlowe had just entered the elevator when she heard someone call out to her.

"Hey! Hold the door, please!" a strong baritone reverberated down the hall. Marlowe turned in time to see two men, Emergency Medical Technicians, quickly make their way towards her pushing a stretcher. Standing to the side to make way for the men and their patient, Marlowe pressed the hold button.

"Hey, thanks," the taller of the two replied. "Can you hit the second floor for us, please?"

"Sure," Marlowe replied as her eye caught his companion, a somewhat familiar-looking older man with curly red hair threaded with silver. He was shorter and stockier than his partner and had deep blue eyes that were firmly focused on her.

"Thank you so much," warbled the thin elderly woman that was stretched out on the gurney. "Aren't these two gentlemen nice to take such good care of me? And both of them so handsome too!"

Marlowe looked into the faded blue eyes that seemed to twinkle merrily despite the fact that Marlowe could see she was in pain. "Looks like you're a lucky gal."

"I am, aren't I?" the old woman chirped back. As the elevator opened, Marlowe politely held the doors open while the EMTs unloaded their patient. She was about to let go of the doors when the redheaded one addressed his partner.

"Hey, Mark, can you take care of Mrs. Kleinman from here? I need to talk to somebody."

"Sure, I'll catch up with you downstairs." At that, the other EMT made his way down the hallway with his patient. It was only then that Marlowe realized that the other medic had stepped back into the elevator to face her just as the doors closed.

Suddenly feeling trapped, Marlowe poised her hand on her hip ready to reach down for her KA-BAR should she need it as he turned to stare at her.

"Uh, can I help you?" she said warily. She watched as the man offered a friendly smile.

"You probably don't remember me," the man started as he crossed his arms over his wide chest, "but I most definitely remember you."

"You do?" she countered quizzically as she eyed him.

Now that she got a good look at him, the man _did_ seem somewhat familiar. Briefly recalling her last outing in Lodi, Marlowe wondered if he was one of the guys who had tried hitting on her the night she had bailed on Jax.

"In this line of work, I get to see a lot and sometimes my calls tend to all blur together, but it would be pretty hard to forget you," the man started by way of explanation. "You were the one that rendered first aid to the mechanic that got hurt a while back down at Teller-Morrow."

It was the EMT's last words that caused Marlowe to finally find his face in her memory. "Oh yeah," she said as she ran her hand through her hair. "You were one of the guys on call when Wade lost his thumb."

"That's right." The EMT held out a hand, which after a brief hesitation Marlowe shook firmly. "I'm Shane Matthews."

"Marlowe Guthrie," she offered and after releasing his hand shoved hers into the pocket of her jeans. "I was sure glad to see you guys pull up that day. I don't think anyone was more relieved than Wade, though."

"How's he doing?" Shane asked as the elevator opened on the third floor. Following Marlowe out into the corridor, the two stood facing each other as several people passed by.

"He's doing great. Physical therapy has worked out quite well for him. He should be back on the job in another month or two."

"I'm glad to hear that. It's not everyday cases like that have a happy outcome. I mean, losing a finger, some people assume it's just a matter of sewing it back on, but so much can go wrong. If you hadn't been around, he could have just as easily bled out. Plus, you knew exactly what to do in order to transport the severed digit to the hospital. You ever work in medical?" Shane asked as Marlowe cocked an eyebrow. "Dumb question. After all, that tat tells me you have." He nodded at Marlowe's forearm on which was emblazoned the symbol of healing, a Caduceus. "You serve?"

Marlowe shrugged her shoulders. "Yeah, that's right."

"What branch?"

"Navy. I was a Hospital Corpsman for ten years."

Shane nodded in admiration. "Shit, I bet you saw some action," he stated. "How many tours?"

"Three, in Afghanistan."

"So you're officially out?

"Kind of," Marlowe replied with hesitation, not willing to give up any more information to a total stranger. She quirked an eyebrow as she watched his smile widen even further.

"I guess you're wondering what's up with the twenty questions, huh?"

"Yeah, the thought has crossed my mind," she snarked.

"I was just wondering," Shane grinned. "You looking for a job?"


	33. Chapter 33

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sons of Anarchy. I do, however, own Marlowe and any other OCs that appear in the 2 Sons Universe.**

**Warning: Be on the lookout for a sexy, green-eyed biker devil on the loose in this chapter!**

* * *

_**Thursday, June 24, 2010** _

It was getting late when Marlowe finally pulled into the lot, feeling quite weary after another long day. With mending broken bones, a secret appointment with her shrink, job offers and long visits first with Amelia and then Kozik ticked off of her agenda, Marlowe was glad to be back home.

 _Home, ain't that some shit_ , she thought wryly as she slammed the door of her car closed. Heaving her backpack onto her shoulder, Marlowe headed towards the Clubhouse, the innocuous building that had strangely enough become a lot more to her than just a place to lay her head. Although already somewhat connected to the Club through her relationship with Happy, Marlowe had sensed a shift in that connection after the situation with Lobos Sonora.

Even though it had been scary as shit finding herself caught in the middle of a cartel war _inside_ the United States, Marlowe had managed to pull her weight. Now, it was clear that many of the patches saw her as an asset to the Club, a fact that wasn't lost on the old ladies who no longer felt threatened by the presence of yet another single woman in the Clubhouse. She was considered a "friend" of the Club and as such, was afforded a measure of respect that definitely had her feeling like she fit in.

Most importantly, it was here in Charming that she had finally managed to get through to Happy, enabling them to start the process of healing the ten-year breach in their relationship. It was here that Happy had let himself see her as not the little girl she used to be in need of protection, but as a strong, capable woman. Although still somewhat overprotective of not just her, but of all the women in his family, at least Happy had evolved enough to understand that she not only had abilities that should be respected, but that she could indeed handle her own shit _as well as_ an AK-47.

_Despite all the crazy shit that goes on around here, Charming's not such a bad place to be._

The idea of leaving it all behind was starting to weigh a little heavy on Marlowe and with her conversation with Shane Matthews still fresh in her mind, she was starting to consider the crazy idea of possibly staying. So the last thing she expected when she returned was being blindsided by a pissed off Club President.

Walking into the Clubhouse, Marlowe found the main room packed with patches and hang-arounds drinking, talking and listening to music. Waving hello to a number of people, she was intent on getting her ass into her dorm ASAP by not getting sucked into a conversation. She was looking forward to a long, cooling shower to be followed by something hot to eat when a brusque voice echoing through the room had her turning her head.

"Where have _you_ been?" Jax Teller called out darkly.

Propped against the bar, the SAMCRO President had a shot of Jack in his hand as he focused a hard glare on the newcomer. Noting the look of irritation beyond the extreme on the biker's face, Marlowe's back stiffened as her instincts refused to let her be intimidated. Not interested in getting a dressing down in front of a room full of people—and for what, she had no clue—the Club medic was determined to cut him off at the pass, keep her temper in check and make a quick exit.

"At St. Thomas," she replied briskly. "It's been a long day, Pres, so if it's all the same to you, I'm going to wash up—" she started but was abruptly cut off.

"Actually, it's _not_ all the same to me." Jax downed his shot of whiskey, angrily slamming the shot glass on bar top. Stepping forward, he carefully, but firmly gripped Marlowe by her bicep and nudged her towards the dorms. "We need to talk," he muttered.

* * *

Standing at the bar, Opie did little to mask the grin that stretched across his face as he watched his best friend perp-walk Marlowe towards his dorm. With his own love life currently in a holding pattern, speculating on Jax's current woman troubles had become the VP's new past time.

"I got twenty that says we won't see those two for the rest of the night," Opie said, nudging his father, who was perched on his favorite stool, with his elbow.

"Do I look like a sucker to you?" came Piney's terse reply as he reached over the bar to grab the Prospect doling out drinks by the scruff of his neck. "Hey, shithead! You see something wrong with this picture?" Piney barked pointing to the empty glass in front of him. Giving the Prospect a good shove, Piney grinned as he watched V-Lin scramble hastily to the top shelf to pull down a fresh bottle of tequila.

"I'll take some of that action," Tig offered as he motioned to the Prospect behind the bar for another beer. "Doc looked like she was ready to kick his balls straight up and into his throat," he said laughing as the VP rolled his eyes at him. "I guaran-damn-tee that means no pussy for the Pres tonight."

"Dat shows how much ya know about women, Tigger," Chibs chimed in as he lit a cigarette. "Jackie-boy has a real snake in 'dose baggy jeans he wears. Believe me, wha'ever he's pissed off aboot, they'll solve that shite between da sheets tonight. If I didna like Doc so much, I'd double the odds on your ass."

"Glad to know that somebody has some sense around here," Bobby replied as he slapped a hand on Chibs' shoulder. "Our Marley-girl ain't no cheap piece of ass to bet on, _especially_ not where Jax is concerned."

"I think that was made relatively clear a minute ago," Opie smirked after downing his own shot. "He's been in a real pissy mood all afternoon waiting for her to show up. Since neither of them have been making any PDAs, I kinda of thought they were trying to keep their shit on the down low."

"They were, until Jax dragged her ass off," Juice laughed.

"Yeah, right. Like those two ever had a chance of keeping the fact that Marley _really_ enjoys playing with Jax's trouser snake quiet in this shit hole," Tig said as he knocked back a gulp of his beer.

"The walls _are_ paper thin around here," Bobby chuckled.

"Why the need to keep shit hush-hush anyways?" Tig continued. "His ex-gash is outta the picture. I'll tell ya what though, it's good to see Jax take a hard line with Marley. He must have learned from experience that being too sweet on his bitch don't pay. Jax was a little lax about keeping Tara in line and it looks like he ain't gonna let that shit happen with Doc." Tig rolled his eyes as Bobby glared at him. "Oh, come on! I'm just saying. 'Sides, you know I really like Marley, but she's a pretty tough bitch and Jax needs to keep her in check from the get."

"I think you're wrong," Miles said aloud. As Tig turned to focus incredulous crazy blue eyes on him, the newest SAMCRO patch found himself swallowing hard before speaking. "I mean," Miles stuttered, "not about Jax not getting any tonight 'cause she looked mighty pissed. I just don't think the Pres should take a hard line with her 'cause Doc ain't like his ex, that's all. She's a really cool lady."

"Well, thank you, Dr. Drew, for your keen relationship insight," Tig said sarcastically.

Slamming his shot glass onto the bar top was Piney's way of telling his brothers to shut the fuck up and listen. "Look, let me drop some knowledge on you young pups," he started. "I ain't been around all that much lately, but I can tell you that Marley is an altogether different bag of tricks, making any comparison to Tara moot. She's a tough broad, probably tougher than _any_ broad Jax has ever had keeping his bed warm in the past. I'm talkin' Gemma-like material here, only she ain't got the capacity to be a meddling hard ass like our Queen."

" _Yet_ ," Juice chimed in good-naturedly. " _All_ women have that meddling gene. It just creeps up on ya when you least expect it."

"Well, until Jax says otherwise, let them keep thinking their shit is off the radar," Bobby said wisely, "and hopefully it will stay off Hap's. It's a good thing he ain't around 'cause you know he won't take too kindly to us talking about this shit."

"Unless ya _want_ him draggin' ya ass into da ring," Chibs said as he eyed Tig.

"Shit, I can take Hap," Tig boasted, but then carefully reconsidered that thought. "That is, as long as he ain't _really_ pissed."

"Well, if anything could get Hap really pissed, it would be Jax fuckin' things up with his little sister, so he better be real careful, damn it. I don't _want_ to be President," Opie said wryly as the swell of his brothers' laughter soared to the Clubhouse's rafters.

* * *

Finding herself being abruptly dragged into Jax's dorm did not have Marlowe in the best frame of mind. The only good thing about the shit storm that was about to land on her with no warning was the timing as Happy wasn't around to witness his Pres lose his shit. One angry biker at a time was all Marlowe was willing to handle on an empty stomach.

Tossing her backpack on a chair, Marlowe crossed her arms over her chest. Standing at ease wasn't an issue as it was obvious that some irrational confrontation was brewing and she wanted to be prepared if shit went sideways.

"So," she drawled, "You need me to pull out the small critter that crawled up your ass to die today or something, Pres? Maybe after you could offer an explanation for the show you just put on out there." She watched as Jax crossed his arms over his chest to eye her irritably.

"I don't have to explain shit to you," he replied crossly. "Last time I checked, we were in MY Clubhouse and you work for the Club, so where the fuck were you today?"

 _Is that what all this chest-thumping is about?_ Marlowe sighed heavily. "I was where I am _every-fucking-day_ ," she replied with exaggerated emphasis. "I was at the hospital with Kozik. Isn't that where I should be?" she asked plaintively.

"Every hour of _every-fucking-day_? No," Jax replied tersely. "Or have you forgotten about your obligation to this Club?"

"I haven't forgotten shit, but obviously you have," Marlowe retorted. "Kozik isn't exactly living the high life down at St. Thomas, you know. He nearly lost his leg. Do you have any clue what something like that can do to a man's mental well-being? His life is on hold while he recovers and basically re-learns how to use his leg. He knows life is carrying on without him and he just feels a little left out. With his brothers so busy lately, he's lonely. That's why I spend so much time with him."

Jax's voice was tight as he eyed her. "So you care about him then?" he asked evenly.

"Of course I do. Why wouldn't I?" Marlowe asked belligerently as she stared into Jax's angry blue eyes. "Isn't that what you pay me to do?"

"I pay you to patch shit up, _not_ to play the part of Kozik's beck-and-call girl," he retorted angrily. "Bottom line, he's monopolizing all of your fuckin' time, making you neglect the fact that he's not the only patch around here that needs servicing." Jax winced the moment the words flew out of his mouth and he noted the battle light ignite in Marlowe's eyes.

 _Shit, that probably wasn't the best way to put it_ , Jax thought belatedly. In his mind, however, it had to be said because returning from a three-day run to discover that Marlowe couldn't be bothered to stick around long enough to see if he needed her had pissed him off.

Marlowe could literally feel the steam building in her as she felt the brunt of Jax's anger as if he had slapped her. The last person she ever expected would make her feel like a pass-around was the one person she was apparently whoring herself out to. The huge chip on her shoulder that the Navy had managed to whittle off the young recruit suddenly reasserted itself. She wasn't about to take his shit with a spoonful of sugar.

" 'Servicing' ?! Why don't you just come right out and ask me if I'm fucking both you _and_ Kozik?!" Marlowe bellowed.

Jax felt his jaw click with tension. "Are you?"

Marlowe's eyes tripled in size. "Who the fuck do you think you are?! What, am I a fuckin' croweater now because I let your ass into my bed?!" she angrily marched over and jabbed Jax in the chest with an index finger. "You need to get this shit straight in that thick, caveman skull of yours. The only man I've _ever_ had to answer to is Uncle Sam. I don't belong to the Club or _anyone_ but my own damn self. _I_ alone get to choose who I care about or want to be with, and there isn't a damn thing you or anybody can do about it!"

Marlowe felt completely justified in her anger and had no problem with saying what she felt. Unfortunately, she realized too late that now was probably the wrong place and the wrong time to so vocally declare her independence as she saw the crazy seep into Jax Teller's eyes. That's when reality hit her at full force and it was the first time in a long time that the combat-tested veteran could remember feeling a slight twinge of apprehension. Thinking that a quick exit might be in order, Marlowe took a hesitant step backwards.

She never made it.

Turning to leave the room, Marlowe quickly found herself pinned to the door as Jax slammed into her from behind. "You're not leaving until you fucking answer me!" he growled against her ear.

Feeling the heat rise in her face, Marlowe practically roared as she used her body to push him away from her. Spinning around to face him, they stood glaring at each other. Taking a step to close the gap between them, Jax found himself falling back a few more steps as Marlowe braced herself against his shoulders and pushed him away. Unperturbed, Jax was about to pounce when, instead of backing down, Marlowe grabbed him by the lapels of his kutte and with surprising strength, spun him around and slammed his back against the door.

As the initial shock of being manhandled by Marlowe wore off, Jax was in for another surprise when she was the one to brazenly step forward. Grabbing the material of the flannel shirt he wore under his kutte, she pulled it apart as buttons flew in all directions.

With a raised eyebrow, Jax flashed her with a smirk that warned her that she was in for it now. Before she could even let out a growl of protest, Marlowe felt as if she had been hit head-on by a brick wall as she was pulled up against the hard surface of Jax's naked chest. Her combat-ready skills seemingly evaporated under the onslaught of his anger as she desperately tried to wrap her foot around his ankle in an effort to take him down. Instead, she found herself being forcibly tossed onto the bed as Jax landed on top of her.

Twisting and writhing on the mattress, the two of them silently struggled against one another, each determined to be the victor in this contest of wills. Marlowe was beyond furious, yet barely contained under the surface was an intense sexual tension she couldn't deny, so when Jax finally and brutally fastened his lips onto hers, everything was forgotten as pure heat singed through her very soul.

Pulling back angrily, Jax shook Marlowe by the shoulders roughly. "A croweater?!" he growled. "Get this through that fuckin' thick head on _your_ shoulders, Doc. Tat or no crow tat, old lady or not, I don't fucking share what's mine, and you're MINE!"

Now it was his turn as he gripped the neckline of Marlowe's t-shirt and gave a mighty tug, renting the garment in two and exposing her creamy breasts fitted into a lacy black bra. Shoving aside one of the straps and grasping a deliciously round orb in the palm of his hands, Jax took the already-budding nipple into his mouth.

Feeling her body convulse as her back arched, Marlowe tried to resist the molten-like heat quickly coursing through her body in a futile effort to hold onto her anger.

 _Fuck it. I'll figure shit out later_ , she thought as she tried to gain control over her erratic breathing. Three days without Jax between her legs was three days too long. Balling her hands into his hair, Marlowe wrapped her legs around his waist, eager to give the SAMCRO President what he had so barbarically declared as his and his alone.

Forcefully pushing her onto her back, Jax ground his hips into her, his kiss hard and full of rage. Somehow, Marlowe managed to kick off her shoes as she pulled and tugged at his kutte and torn shirt. Grabbing a fistful of hair at the back of his head, she broke away from their kiss.

"Get out of your clothes," she demanded.

"No," Jax replied gruffly. "We're gonna do this hard, fast and dirty, darlin'," he said sitting back on his knees as he unbuttoned her jeans. Roughly grabbing them by the waist along with her panties, Jax yanked the jeans down, managing to free only one leg, but he didn't give a fuck. Spreading her legs, Jax fell over her once again. He was biting and sucking bruises into her neck when Marlowe cried out as she felt his hand between her thighs.

"You're so fucking wet," he groaned as he finger-fucked her, loving how ready she was for him.

"Then get to it, Teller," Marlowe commanded breathless. "Fuck me." She pushed him away in order to un-do his jeans. Pulling his zipper down, she smiled as she noted he was already erect. "You been hard for me all day? Is that why you're so pissy? Or does roughing me up do it for you, huh?" she teased as she reached into his jeans and pulled his dick out.

 _Damn_ , Marlowe shook her head with a smirk, still impressed by the heat he was packing.

"Both," Jax growled as he pushed Marlowe onto her back and spread her legs again. Not bothering to remove his jeans or boxers, Jax slammed into her, causing her to scream. Grabbing her hands and pinning them over her head, Jax started his brutal thrusting, fucking her hard and into the mattress.

"Oh God!" Marlowe cried out as Jax continued to growl softly with each thrust, their eyes locked on each other. Marlowe's moans and the harsh sound of flesh slapping against flesh echoed throughout the room.

Suddenly, Jax pulled out, getting on his knees and pulling Marlowe up with him. "Turn over," he demanded.

Quickly doing as he said, Marlowe playfully poked her ass out towards him. Jax responded by smacking it hard and gripping it even harder. "You fucking want this rough?" he growled, demanding an answer.

"I'm waiting for it, baby. When are you going to start fucking me like you mean it?" she taunted over her shoulder.

Burying his right hand into her hair on the back of her head, Jax pressed her face first into the bed. Clasping her by the hips with both hands, he started his manic thrusting once more, burying himself to the hilt before pulling out and slamming in once again and over and over. Marlowe moaned into the bed sheets, savoring every sensation being penetrated like this sent coursing through her body. The position was nothing new for them, but the controlled violence and dominance he was exerting over her was and she loved it.

"Fuck!" Jax swore angrily. She felt too fucking good like this and he was already having trouble keeping himself in check. He wanted to come so badly, but this wasn't about him. This was his way of branding Marlowe's soul with his.

Sensing his frustration, Marlowe reached back and pushed him away. "On your back, outlaw." Wiping the sweat off his brow, Jax's ass had barely touched down on the bed before Marlowe was already straddling him. Leaning over him, she pressed her forehead against his. " _Now_ fuck me like you mean it."

Gripping her hips hard enough to leave bruises, Jax pulled her down onto his dick every time he thrust upward. He was going hard and fast and Marlowe heard herself whimper as the need for release began to build. Fisting her hands into his shirt, she pushed herself upright and tossed her head back as her breath quickened. She could feel the familiar and beautiful warm tingle start right above where Jax's dick was hitting, what she was sure was her G-spot.

"Yes," she moaned softly, her breath catching in her throat as she came. Letting herself fall forward as she enjoyed the aftershocks of her orgasm, Jax wrapped his arms around Marlowe, peppering her damp neck and jaw line with kisses. Pulling back, Marlowe smiled down at him lazily. "Damn, Pres. That was fucking intense."

"We're not done yet, darlin'," Jax smirked. Pulling her down into a kiss, Jax started moving again, fucking her at a slower, more sensual speed. Running one hand over her back and into her hair, he used his other arm to pull her tighter against him as he poured his heart and soul into their kiss.

Suddenly, the grip he had in her hair tightened as his fingers dug into her back. He was so close and, no longer capable of concentrating on their kiss, Jax growled as the pleasure started to build. His thrusts became erratic and harder until he finally came with a grunt. Swearing, Jax let his head fall back onto the bed as Marlowe leaned forward and pressed kisses into his neck, rubbing her cheek lightly against the scruff on his jaw.

"Feeling better?" she smiled against his throat.

"Yeah," Jax chuckled softly. " _So_ much fuckin' better."

"Good," Marlowe said tiredly. Lifting her head to gaze into his now drowsy eyes, she asked, "You want to tell me where the fuck all that came from?"

Jax groaned. "Not really," he replied, cutting loose with a surprised yelp as Marlowe viciously tweaked his nipple.

"That was some really crazy shit, Jax," Marlowe scolded as she tried to pull away only to find herself imprisoned in his ironclad embrace.

"Yeah, it was. It was intense and crazy and a little fuckin' scary," he acknowledged quietly, "but I can't say I'm sorry," Jax paused, "except for making you feel like a croweater. That was never my intention, darlin', and it's the furthest shit from my mind."

Marlowe pushed herself upright, leaning over Jax to look him straight in the eyes. "Then why act like a complete fucking asshole about Kozik? Dropping all that 'servicing' shit on me? I didn't deserve that, Jax." She watched as Jax ran a hand through his hair before reaching out with the same hand to gently cup her cheek.

"This isn't some easy shit for me to say," Jax began as he continued to caress her. "I know you said you want to keep shit loose between us—"

"And you said you were okay with that," she interrupted to remind him.

"I was acting like a bucket-full of crazy a minute ago, babe. Does it seem like I'm _okay_ with that?" Jax asked candidly.

"Uh, no," Marlowe said hesitantly. "This shit with Kozik, though, that was pretty far out of left field."

"Not that far," Jax replied before biting his lip in thought. "Me thinking that there might be more than friendship between you and him isn't all that unlikely, is it? I mean, you did fight me pretty long and hard to make sure he got the best treatment," he finished quietly.

"Yeah, I did. Just as hard as I would have fought for any Son, your fine ass included," she shot back.

"So you're telling me there was never _any_ interest there?" Jax watched as Marlowe's eyes shifted a little to the left as if she was contemplating the most tactful way to answer.

"Look," Marlowe started, clasping Jax's hand in both of hers. "I'd be lying if I said that Kozy wasn't a nice looking guy. I thought so the minute I first laid eyes on him. Nice hair, great bod," she said coyly as Jax rolled his eyes. "But I never had any interest in being more than just friends with him. That was especially true _after_ I met you," she said with a teasing smile as she tugged on the hair of his chin.

"Oh yeah?" Jax growled sexily as he pushed himself up on the bed to take a quick nip of her full lips.

"Oh yeah," Marlowe purred as she kissed him back. "And it's a good thing God broke the mold when he made you, baby. I don't think the world can take more than one of you running around unchecked, _not_ that I should be telling you that shit after what you pulled out there in front of everybody. I thought at the very least we were going to keep the fact that you're tapping my happy ass off of everyone's radar."

"And it's a fine ass, too," Jax said as he copped a squeeze, only to smirk when she punched him in the arm.

"Jax, you _knew_ I didn't want this shit between us to be the talk of the charter. I especially don't want any of that talk getting back to Hap," she explained. "He's an overprotective son of a bitch, but he means well. And even though I know he would never neglect his duty to watch your back, I also know he wouldn't hesitate to knock you on your ass if he felt you deserved it. At least, that's what he told me when he figured out we were doing the 'naked pretzel'."

Jax's eyebrows rose into his hairline. "Hap knows?" He watched as Marlowe nodded slowly, a knowing smile on her face. "Damn, I got a pass from the Tacoma Killah?"

"Seems that way, but I'm sure it's a one-time deal subject to certain conditions, to be revoked the minute he thinks your acting the fool on me," Marlowe snarked. "Seems to me that acting out in front of the Club might qualify as a deal-breaker, _if_ he catches wind of it."

"And if he does, maybe it won't be so bad if you put in a good word for me, darlin', especially if I say again how sorry I am," Jax pouted sweetly.

"Maybe," she allowed and then snuggled down against him, resting her head in the crook of his neck as Jax wrapped his arms around her. "But I think understanding why he was so willing to cut you a little slack in the first place might go a long way in convincing me to plead your case."

For a while, Jax simply stroked his fingers through her hair silently while he gathered his thoughts. Finally turning onto his side, he looked Marlowe in the eyes. "Back before we went we inside for fourteen months, the Club had a beef with a small time MC out of Lodi. While I was out of town handling some family business, the MC's President kidnapped Tara and the hospital admin she worked with in St. Thomas. When I got back to Charming a few days later, I was able to get Tara back and I ended up killing the POS that took her, but not before she miscarried the baby she was carrying."

Looking into his suddenly grim face, Marlowe's eyes reflected empathy. "I'm so sorry, Jax," she said sincerely. "That must have been really difficult for you, for the _both_ of you."

"Don't be sorry, babe," Jax shook his head slightly. "That was just the story Tara wanted me to believe." Seeing Marlowe's brow crease with confusion, Jax explained, "The miscarriage never happened."

Marlowe blinked once, then twice. "I'm confused. Was she even pregnant?" she asked puzzled.

Jax nodded. "She was, but she _never_ had a miscarriage. Tara wanted out and her first step in shedding me was shedding my kid. She had an abortion," Jax said evenly. "She never even told me she was pregnant. Gemma was the one to drop that bomb on me. By the time I returned to Charming, it was too late, but instead of telling me the truth, Tara lied and let me believe that the whole kidnapping ordeal had caused a 'miscarriage'."

Jax spent the next few minutes relaying the circumstances of Clay's intervention and Gemma's dogged attempt to keep her grandson in Charming, which led her to discover Tara's betrayal. The truth coming out was what had subsequently sounded the death knell on their relationship.

"That's just fuckin' unbelievable," Marlowe muttered under her breath. "So, that's why you ended it with Tara."

Jax shrugged his shoulders. "Here's the thing, darlin'. Finding out the truth only cemented my commitment to what I had already planned to do. Before shit blew up, I was all set to call it quits."

Marlowe flipped onto her tummy and propped herself up on her elbows as she looked into Jax's resolute eyes. "Really?" She watched as he nodded slowly.

"It may have taken me some time to get shit straight in my head, but I knew that it was over the first night you and I spent together," he said quietly.

"Well, I know that. You said as much not two seconds before Tara caught you in my bed," she started only to stop as Jax put a finger across her lips.

"No, darlin'. I'm talking about our _first_ night together."

As his meaning became clear, Marlowe felt a fluttering in her heart that spiraled into her stomach. Her last episode of PTSD had been her worst one in recent memory. She had been able to find some sort of peace that night only because she found herself being comforted by Jax. Waking up in his arms the next morning, they had nearly given into their feelings in the heat of the moment, only for Jax to call their lovemaking to a halt. Looking into his eyes and seeing the truth in them was a little overwhelming.

"After that shit happened between us, I just knew I couldn't continue with Tara the way things were. I didn't want to anymore. It was hard putting the brakes to us that morning, darlin', but I figured that I owed both you and Tara the respect of at least ending shit with her first. Then she found out about the Lobos attack and I felt like a piece of shit for wanting to bail on her. Learning the truth about the abortion just made the decision to let her go a hell of a lot easier for me."

Trying to brush off the huge statement, Marlowe swallowed the surprisingly large lump in her throat before speaking. "I'm not sure I know how to respond to that."

"You don't have to, babe, not right now." Jax picked up her hand and squeezed it gently, caressing her knuckles with his thumb. "I'm not sure myself where this shit between us is headed. All I know for sure is that I have no interest in being with anyone else but you."


	34. Chapter 34

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sons of Anarchy. I do, however, own Marlowe and any other OCs that appear in the 2 Sons Universe.**

* * *

_**Monday, July 5, 2010** _

The Modesto Wellness Facility was located on a sprawling three-acre property just south of the city limits. Comprised of several buildings, the facility was not only a physical rehabilitation center but it also treated patients for drug and alcohol-related issues. Outfitted with a number of walking paths, outdoor exercise equipment, an Olympic-sized swimming pool, gymnasium, and tennis and basketball courts, the Center promoted vigorous physical conditioning under the supervision of their professional and highly-trained staff in a safe and tranquil setting.

The main building, a four-story structure, housed many of its patients who were undergoing treatment for a variety of orthopedic conditions. Today, the Center had welcomed a new patient. After spending over a month in the hospital in Charming, Herman Kozik had finally been released into the care of the rehab center where he would receive additional treatment for his still-healing leg.

"This place ain't too bad. Hopefully, the food will be better than that shit at St. Thomas," Kozik said as he lay back in bed taking in his surroundings. "The Club is really shelling out some big bucks here, huh?"

"Hey, only the best for our second best idiot savant," Tig replied casually from his chair as he crossed a leg over his knee.

"Kiss my ass," Kozik retorted petulantly.

"Why? Does it taste like chocolate today?" Tig shot back. "C'mon, Kozy, don't be a hater. All that weed Juicy smokes has killed enough brain cells that he deserves to be King Moron. In my heart, though, you'll always be number one," he snorted loudly, "especially after letting your ass get nearly blown the fuck up by a land mine."

"Why don't you say that shit a little louder, douchebag? I don't think they heard you by the fuckin' Nurses' Station," Kozik whispered loudly as he gestured to the open door that led out into the hallway.

"Eh, don't get your panties in a wad," the crazy-haired biker replied sanguinely. "Doc handled that shit and nobody's the wiser."

"There's some truth to that," Kozik said with admiration. "If it hadn't been for Marley, who knows? St. Thomas might have tipped to the fact that I didn't fuck up my leg by laying my bike down."

It was a collection of half-truths, innuendos and outright lies that the Club medic had dumped on the doctors at St. Thomas. Whether they had believed her outright or had swallowed her version of events with a grain of salt, Kozik had been able to recover in peace and without fear of being reported to the ATF or worse yet, Homeland Security. Had the gunpowder residue that had been burned into his skin been identified as such—a surefire indication that some illegal activity had led to his injuries—it would have put the Club back on the Fed's watch list for sure.

"Speaking of Doc, you never explained why I got stuck with your sorry ass today instead of hers," Kozik inquired.

"The Fourth of July barbecue down at the Clubhouse wrapped up pretty late and Jax asked me to cover for her. I'm sure that was code for 'I'm gonna bang the ever-loving shit out of her and she won't be in any condition to walk in the morning', so here I am," Tig sniggered a little. "Even now, I bet she's getting well and truly plowed by our Pres." He grinned as Kozik's eyes widened.

"Damn, so it's officially out that they're together?" he asked, concern in his voice evident.

"No way, Kozy. _Unofficially_ , however, that shit's all over the fuckin' place. Marley and Jax may _think_ nobody knows what's going on, but Jax has been in _way_ too much of a good fuckin' mood since his ex-gash left Charming. I'm talking the kind of good mood only a man getting head and pussy on the regular would be in. Love is in the fuckin' air, my brother."

" _Love_?" Kozik sputtered. "Are you shitting me?"

"Eh, what the fuck do I know?" Tig replied as he thoughtfully stroked his goatee with his ringed-fingers. "Let's just say that the bed springs are in real danger of giving out on those two." He cocked an eyebrow and noted his brother's worried expression. "Hey, what's all this angst I'm reading off of you? You ain't pissed 'cause Jax touched down on Marley before you, are ya? _As if_ you ever had a chance."

"Nah, man," Kozik replied hastily. "It ain't that. It's just," he sighed, "I kinda see Marley as more than just 'Doc', ya know. She really did right by me, right by the Club too. Normally, I wouldn't give a shit who Jax was tapping but—"

" _But_ Doc is different," Tig finished. "I get that. She's Hap's little sister and Hap is family, so she's—"

"Family too, yeah," Kozik concluded. "She's seen her share of bad shit in that godforsaken war and I just don't wanna see shit get twisted for her here. She's a good kid."

 _And how fucked up is it that she may be_ _my kid_ , Kozik thought ruefully.

Kozik had come no closer to figuring out whether or not he was Marlowe's biological father. Clay had assured him that he would try and sniff out some more information on her background without raising any red flags, but so far Kozik hadn't heard about any progress. Part of him was wondering whether or not he should just take the bull by the fuckin' horns and fess up to Marlowe, but that would mean he'd have to take on Happy as well.

_And that's a whole other kettle of fish I'm not ready for. Hap will rip off my good leg and feed it to me._

Kozik, Happy and Tig had been close as actual brothers from the time he had first come to Charming, an unholy trinity if there ever was one. When he and Hap had decided to make the leap to the Tacoma charter, that bond had only grown stronger and it was why, Kozik believed, that Happy had approached him in the first place about looking after Marlowe, because he knew he could trust him.

 _Hap won't feel the same after he finds out that I might be Marley's sperm donor_ , Kozik thought grimly.

"I don't see any reason for you to worry, Kozy," Tig continued. "Have you seen the way Doc handles Happy? _And_ she's seen action against insurgents and shit, true life fuckin' terrorists. I think she's more than capable of dealing with the Pres and all his baggage, especially that big ol' steamer trunk he calls 'Mom'," Tig said as he stood up. "I gotta roll, brother. We got some new merch coming in and I gotta be on hand at the warehouse to receive it. Don't worry about Doc. She'll be a'ight and will prolly stop by tomorrow to check on ya. That is, once she regains use of her legs."

"Yeah, a'ight, I get it," Kozik said as he watched his brother head towards the door. "Hey, don't forget to bring me that shit I need from my dorm next time."

"Yeah, yeah, quit your whining and bitchin'. I said I'll take care of it," Tig said over his shoulder as he exited the room.

Now that his brother was gone, Kozik took another look around the room with an appreciation for the spaciousness of his new digs. The private room was larger than his room had been in St. Thomas, which he had shared with another patient. The walls were a cheerful and warm yellow with bright and airy curtains on the windows and furniture made from actual wood, not that pressed board shit he was used to seeing in hospitals. Plus, he had a 32-inch flat screen television that he didn't have to share on the wall opposite his bed. Kozik stretched his hand to grab the remote that lay on his table, intent on surfing the channels to see what his options were when he heard someone gently clear their throat from the direction of his doorway.

Turning his head, Kozik got his first look at Amelia Lowman.

* * *

The woman standing in his doorway was attractive for her age, which Kozik figured was somewhere in her 60's. Tall and full-figured without being overweight, her skin was the color of cafe au lait, the only wrinkles marring her complexion in the corners of her striking eyes. Her smooth dark hair was pulled back into a roll at the nape of her neck, the simplicity of her hairstyle emphasizing her high cheek bones and regal nose. Dressed in what appeared to be workout gear—cranberry sweatpants, a t-shirt, white sneakers and an ivory cardigan—the woman appeared very poised and had a proud bearing even as she held onto a state of the art walker for support.

A lover of the ladies regardless of age, Kozik had no problem turning up the charm when he wanted. Putting down the remote he flashed her with a friendly smile. "Hi," he said. "Were you looking for someone who used to be in this room? I just moved in today."

"Actually, I was looking for a Mr. Kozik," the woman replied in softly accented English.

"Uh, yeah, that would be me," he replied with some hesitation, "and you're—"

"Amelia Lowman, Kique's mother," Amelia smiled as Kozik's eyes widened. "Well, I should say 'Happy's' mother as I know that is what he prefers to be called and that is what his brothers know him by. May I come in?"

"Absolutely. Please, come right in and have a seat. And please, just call me Kozik." He watched as the older woman made her way into his room and used her walker to ease herself into the chair recently vacated by Tig. "This is a real surprise. Although, I guess it really shouldn't be since Marley told me you were a resident here."

"As she mentioned that I could expect to find you here today. I thought you might appreciate seeing a friendly face on your first day, even though we've never met before. I didn't get the chance to make your acquaintance when you visited my home a few months ago, but Marley has told me so much about you that I feel like I know you already. She did, however, forget to mention how handsome you were." Amelia's dark eyes twinkled merrily as Kozik felt the heat in his face and knew that he, a grown ass outlaw biker was blushing. It was those same dark as pitch eyes that made him realize why she had seemed so familiar. They were exactly like Hap's, except _a lot_ friendlier.

"Uh, yeah, well," he managed to say sheepishly. "I wouldn't say I'm all that."

"Hmm, I would have to disagree. I know my hija and she likes them blond and a little dirty and with that beard on your face, I'm thinking you fit the bill. I must say, though, you are a bit older than Marley, eh? What, 43, 44?" she queried and smirked as she watched the man squirm.

"Actually, I just turned fifty."

"Well then, you're weathering the storm quite nicely," Amelia quipped and Kozik couldn't help and burst out laughing.

"You're not at all what I expected," he said as his chuckles ceased.

"Really? Why not?" she inquired, genuinely curious.

"Well, Hap isn't exactly—" Kozik hesitated, seeing a knowing glint light in Amelia's eyes.

"Ah, yes, my Kique is not a people person, I know," she concluded. "He is not representative of us Cubans. We are outgoing, outspoken, and we love to talk."

"He's my brother and I love him, but I'd have to agree," Kozik stated. "He's not what anyone would call communicative. I mean, I've known Hap for nearly twenty years and didn't even know he had a sister until he asked me to look after Marley when she first came to town."

"That is my son in a nutshell," Amelia smiled. "He is a very private man who tends to be overly protective of his family. He is also a good judge of character and the fact that he asked you to look after Marley tells me more about you than you could possibly tell me yourself. That alone tells me that you are trustworthy and I know that him introducing her to his Club means that she is being well looked after until we are ready to go home to Bakersfield."

_Go home?_

_To Bakersfield?_

_Shit!_

"Uh, when do you think that's gonna happen?" Kozik tried to ask as casually as possible.

"Well, my therapist is still trying to get me to walk with just a cane. He insists that he will not let me go home until I can do so with confidence. I'm still nervous about trusting my new knee, but if all goes well over the next few weeks, I am scheduled for release by the end of the month."

 _Damn it, that doesn't give me much time to find out what I need to know_ _, not while I'm_ _stuck_ _in here_ , Kozik thought grimly until another thought hit him _. Tig_ _is_ _right. I am a fuckin' idiot. All the information I need is sitting right in front of me!_

If Amelia Lowman was anything like her son, however, Kozik knew he needed to use a soft approach if he wanted to mine her for information on Marlowe's background.

"I'm guessing your anxious to be back home, huh?" he queried cautiously.

Amelia nodded. "As much as I appreciate what being here has done for me, it will be good to be in familiar surroundings once again. I miss my home, my neighbors and my garden."

"I guess that means Marley will be going back with you to Bakersfield?" he asked.

"Oh yes. Now that Marley is home from the Navy, she will stay with me," Amelia assured him.

"That's good. You know, even though I know there's no blood between them, there's no doubt that Hap and Doc are brother and sister, the way those two carry on." He grinned as Amelia nodded.

"They've always been that way, from the moment Happy brought Marley home to me."

Kozik's brow wrinkled in confusion. "Really? I kinda got the feeling that you were the one who took Marley in."

"Well, that's the version Kique is fond of putting about, but it's the exact opposite," Amelia explained. "I will never forget the night _he_ brought Marley home. I had seen her once or twice around the neighborhood running errands for her mother, but for the most part, she was isolated from the other children. I never saw her play outside, not once. At the time, I heard she was a latch-key child who mostly had to fend for herself."

"Really?" Kozik said offhandedly. "What about her mom and dad? Where were they while she was taking care of herself?" He watched as the older woman's face became sorrowful.

"I don't think Marley ever knew her father," Amelia shook her head sadly. "There was only her mother, a poor excuse of one too. Too self-centered and self-absorbed and barely capable of keeping a roof over their heads. She worked as an exotic dancer and even though I wanted to box Kique's ears for taking up with such a woman, bringing him home one night from the strip club was probably the best thing she had ever done for Marley. Kique saw what a bad environment it was for her and that's how she ended up living with me."

"It's a good thing too. I can tell from the way Doc handles herself that she must have picked up a lot of good qualities from you." He watched as Amelia smiled her gratitude.

"Thank you for the kind words, but Marley came to me pretty much how she is now, her own person," Amelia stated. "Those first ten years of her life, she raised herself and did a damn good job too."

"What happened to her mother? I mean, Marley has never mentioned her," Kozik said casually as he felt his heartbeat increase rapidly.

"And she probably won't ever mention her either," the older woman stated emphatically. "Her mother passed away about five years ago. Marley was overseas at the time, but as far as I know, she never shed a tear over the loss."

"I'm not surprised," Kozik allowed just as an upbeat Salsa music ringtone emanated from the pocket of Amelia's cardigan.

"Marley gave up on her mother long before she died," Amelia replied as she dug around for her phone, her head down. "I would be surprised if she has given Shannon Guthrie another thought since. Kozik, please excuse me for just a moment while I take this," Amelia said as she flipped open her phone. "Ceci, where are you? I thought you were coming by this afternoon."

Turning her head to the side, Amelia started to rail away at her sister in Spanish, totally missing the pale and frozen-in-shock countenance of the Center's newest resident.

* * *

_**Tuesday, July 6, 2010** _

Not even during some of her most darkest moments in Kabul and Kandahar, Afghanistan had Marlowe ever contemplated harming herself. Now, however, sitting 7400 miles away on the fourth floor terrace of the Modesto Wellness Center, she was seriously considering doing a swan dive off the balcony. More than likely, she wouldn't die from the fall as much as she would end up hurting herself badly. Any pain, however, had to be more tolerable in comparison than enduring the relentless passive-aggressive teasing by Amelia Lowman and her partner-in-crime Celia Lopez.

For the last fifteen minutes, Marlowe had been subjected to what could only be termed as school yard bullying by the merciless tag team comprised of the two women she loved best in the world. Lucky for them that she had as much love and respect for them as Happy did or she would have lost her mud by now. That, plus the fact that what Amelia was saying about her not being around a whole lot lately was for the most part true. Like Jax, however, her Tía was way off the mark concerning Kozik.

"Ay, Marley, now we know why you've been neglecting my poor sister," Ceci chided playfully. "Mellie, you poor thing, you've been cast aside for this _chamaco_. I bet he's a pretty blond, too."

"Si, hermanita," Amelia smiled conspiratorially. "Blond and very good-looking, but hardly un chamaco. He's _fifty_!"

"Ay, chica!" Ceci flashed Marlowe a look of faux-disdain. "Estás loca? You should be with a man your own age, one that can get it up—"

"And keep it up," Amelia added, pointing a finger at Marlowe for emphasis.

"Without the Viagra," Ceci teased oblivious to the fact that they were not the only ones enjoying the beautiful day on the terrace.

"This one might be different, Ceci," Amelia continued with a mischievous glint in her eye. "Although he was covered up, I could tell that he has quite the package."

Marlowe covered her face with her hands and shook her head in disbelief. "I'm in Hell," she lamented as the sisters laughed at her expense.

After their laughter died down, Amelia sighed dramatically, determined to pick up where she had left off. "Cría cuervos y te sacarán los ojos," she said mournfully. " _This_ is the thanks I get for raising a little hellcat, but I guess this old bag of bones can't compete with devilish blue eyes and a charming smile."

"Okay, Tía," Marlowe finally spoke up in her defense. "You can dial down on the drama, please. I've been busy, but you know I come to see you as often as I can. When I can't, I call."

"I think you're right, Mellie," Ceci said with a laugh. "The first time she opens her mouth and it's to defend herself about not visiting. She has yet to deny her fling with the biker."

Marlowe smirked to herself as she ran her hand through her hair. It was a no-win situation for her and she knew it. While it was true enough that she had grown quite fond of Kozik, he was just a good friend. Amelia knew that when it came to the opposite sex, Marlowe was anything but shy. In spite of all the teasing, had there been something going on between her and Kozik, Marlowe would not deny it. Yet Amelia had a sixth sense when it came to her children and Marlowe knew that the teasing was her way of saying that she suspected a man was behind Marlowe's sudden change in routine. Amelia had just zeroed in on the wrong piece of eye candy _and_ only because she hadn't had the good fortune of meeting Jax Teller.

As a matter of fact, there was no doubt in Marlowe's mind that Amelia would _just know_ that she had something going on with Jax the moment she laid eyes on him and Marlowe wasn't ready to deal with that yet. How could she claim to third-parties that she was in a relationship with Jax when she wasn't sure what she was involved in herself? Although Jax had smoothed things over with her, Marlowe was now even more confused about her feelings after their recent blow up.

Having been offered the opportunity to apply for a job by Shane Matthews had Marlowe recently contemplating making her stay in Charming a permanent one. But believing that she and Kozik had a more intimate relationship than was warranted, Jax had epically lost his shit with her. His indirect accusation that she had been not only "servicing" him but his brother as well had left a sour taste in her mouth, making her doubt the sanity of her desire to stay.

One second, Jax had been one step away from relegating her to the status of pass-around and the next he was telling her in no uncertain terms that she was _his_. Marlowe wasn't sure which declaration had burned her ass more. She was neither a croweater nor an old lady and no man had ever taken such a stance with her. But then again, she had never tangled with a sexy bad ass outlaw biker.

The accusation had spurred a very heated and physical interaction between the pair. There had been pushing and shoving which culminated with some incredibly hot, yet angry sex. That had been Jax's way of owning her. She had known that the moment she had looked into those possessive, crazy blue eyes of his, but she hadn't cared. Marlowe had submitted to him completely and had paid for it later by barely being able to walk.

The possibility that the outlaw shared head space with the green-eyed monster had never occurred to her before. Used to being open and speaking her mind, Marlowe hadn't thought that admitting her fondness for Kozik would put Jax's ass on a bus to Crazy Town, but it had. She may have given back as good as she got, but Marlowe was woman enough to admit that the experience had shaken her.

It may have been the wrong way to approach having the conversation, but afterward, Jax had opened up to her. He had made it clear that he wanted her and her alone and that he expected the same loyalty from Marlowe in return. He had gone on to reveal the very personal tragedy that had put the final nail in the coffin of his relationship with Tara Knowles, making it clear to her that he had known he was done even before learning the truth.

Quite sure that in Jax's mind they were more than just "friends with benefits", it kind of surprised her to realize that, even though she had not yet defined in her mind what they had as a "relationship", all she knew for sure was that she didn't want whatever it was to end. However, considering all that Jax had been through with Tara and the personal demons she was still dealing with herself, Marlowe knew anything else developing between them now would be too fast and too soon, especially when in a few short weeks she was expected to return to Bakersfield.

Lost in her musings, it was the sudden intrusion by her two companions cackling away in Spanish that prompted Marlowe to finally throw her hands up in defeat. Namely, they were in the midst of debating the merits of a man's "equipment" and whether it was length or thickness that mattered most.

"Come on, hija," Amelia cajoled. "All of a sudden, you're being modest about sex. It's not like you to be such a prude."

"I am _not_ a prude," Marlowe insisted. "I'm still not having this conversation with either of you, _especially_ not in public. As a matter of fact, I'm taking a break," she announced.

Getting up from her chair, Marlowe headed towards the exit, but not before escaping Ceci's voice as it carried across the balcony. "Say hello to your little friend for us," she said in a sing-song voice.

"You mean her not-so-little friend," Amelia admonished. "I just told you, Ceci, the man's hung like a horse."

Shaking her head miserably, Marlowe headed back inside.

* * *

"Damn, I'm looking kinda scruffy," Kozik complained to himself as he eyed his reflection in the small handheld mirror one of the nurses had let him borrow. "Tig really needs to bring me my shit before I start lookin' like a crazed mountain man," he groused.

"I always thought that crazed mountain man and outlaw biker were basically the same look," Marlowe said teasingly from the doorway. "I think it works on you though." Her eyes narrowed as she noted Kozik's shoulders tense up at her sudden appearance. "Hey, I'm sorry. If you prefer to be alone, I can take a hike."

"Shit no, Doc. C'mon in," Kozik replied quickly as he laid the mirror on his side table. "Just checking out my ugly mug and wondering why the fuck Tig can't remember to bring me a damn thing I've asked for." He watched as Marley walked into the room and plopped herself onto the large chair opposite his bed.

"You are shit out of luck if you think Tig will remember anything that doesn't involve a freakishly humiliating sex act," Marlowe stated. "I'm assuming you asked him to bring by a weed-whacker or at least some garden shears to tame that rug you're growing on your face."

Kozik chuckled. "Yeah, I haven't been keeping up with my man-scaping since taking up residence in the body and fender shop. Never realized how much gray was in my beard until I started growing one. Figured it would do my self-esteem some good to clean up for the ladies around here."

"See, now I know you're really on the mend if you're wanting to pretty yourself up. But if you ask me, that beard's not hurting you any. Seems like there may already be a cougar on the prowl around here looking for a cub and all signs point to you."

"Really?" Kozik waggled his eyebrows at Marlowe, a huge grin threatening to split his face in two. "Hey, I don't discriminate. As long as she has two pairs of lips, I'm game."

"Real classy, Kozy," Marlowe said as rolled her eyes. "But I'm sure _Hap's mom_ will be happy to hear that." She grinned as a look of sheer panic sprang into his eyes. "Calm down, biker boy. I'm joking."

"Ha, ha," Kozik drawled sarcastically. "Didn't anyone ever tell you that it's in poor taste to joke about a man's mother? _Especially_ when that man is Happy Lowman. I mean, I'm sure he's having a hard enough time dealing with Jax laying pipe with _you._ " He grinned as a similar look of horror spread across Marlowe's face before she could suppress it.

"What the fuck are you talking about now?" she almost hissed.

"What _everybody's_ talking about. That is, if you believe Tiggy, which I do if that look on your face a second ago is anything to go by. What? Just 'cause I've been laid up with a bum leg don't mean I'm out of touch with my Club. I keep my finger on the pulse of SAMCRO. I know all, I see all," Kozik boasted.

"You don't know jack shit," Marlowe retorted calmly, crossing her combat-booted foot over her knee. Kozik may know what Tig thinks he knows, but she was confident no one else had clued in on her and Jax, expect for Gemma and Happy—and Dr. Knowles, but she was out of the picture and didn't count, _right_?

"I know Jax dragged your ass off to his dorm in front of God and a roomful of witnesses a few days ago," Kozik replied cheekily as, caught off guard AGAIN, Marlowe's eyes widened. " _And_ I knowthat neither of you were seen or heard from again that night—wait. That's not true. You may not have been seen, but you were most definitely _heard_ , if you know what I mean."

"You know what, Kozy? I'd hate to have to break your other leg and shove it up your ass, so let's just agree to disagree and drop it, 'kay?"

"A'ight, calm down." Kozik grinned jovially. "So being as I don't know jack shit, why don't you fill me in on what's been going on down at the Clubhouse?"

Laying back comfortably, Kozik settled in as, after aiming at him another withering look meant to shrivel his balls into dust, Marlowe finally agreed to the change in conversation. For the next while, Marlowe relayed as many interesting stories and anecdotes as possible to entertain the obviously bored biker.

It was certainly a good way to keep him preoccupied, although it did little to get his mind off the possibility that the young woman sitting across from him could be his daughter. Sooner or later, he knew that he would have to address the paternity elephant in the room. For now, however, Kozik would continue to enjoy his easy friendship with Marlowe for there was no telling how long it would last after the truth came out.

"By the time I left, poor V-Lin was on hour two of latrine duty using _his_ toothbrush," she said as Kozik continued to snort with laughter. "Chibs told me later that someone had been flushing ladies' underwear down the crapper, backing up the sewer."

"My money's on Juicy," Kozik announced with a sure nod of his head. "I love my brother, but I always got that creepy, panty-sniffer vibe from him, you know?"

"Ugh!" Marlowe exclaimed with humorous disgust. "Reminds me of boot camp. We were only ever allowed to undress in the latrine and shower area, so we'd dump our dirty clothes on the bench alongside the clean ones we would change into after we showered. I can't tell you how many times I stepped out of the shower to find my underwear gone. And _not_ the clean ones, either. Just the dirty ones," she related as Kozik laughed.

"You realize that one of your bunk-buddies had a dirty panty fetish, right?" he teased.

Marlowe nodded. "Just goes to show ya, outlaw MCs and the military aren't really all that different," she said dryly.

Laughing and talking companionably with Kozik, the last thing Marlowe expected to hear was the deep and sexy voice that always made her shiver, especially when she was least expecting to hear it. The sound of that voice, so familiar and comforting to her now, suddenly intruded into her conversation and drew attention away from everything else.

"I can assure you, Doc," Jax said as he strolled into the room. "There is a hell of a big difference. The MC pays better, Gemma's meatloaf is killer, and no one will get in trouble for fraternizing."

 _Fuck my life_ , Marlowe winced as she eyed the smiling biker and turned in time to see Kozik's wide-faced grin. _It's on now._

Jax flashed an engagingly wicked smile at the Club medic currently eyeballing him as if he had just repelled down from the roof and swooped in through the window to land in front of her. Reaching her side, a little bit of the devil snuck into the SAMCRO Pres and even though he was convinced that there was nothing going on between Marlowe and Kozik, Jax figured that now was a good time as any to take his relationship with Marlowe public. Not only was he putting his stamp on the medic in front of his brother, confirming that she was no longer a free agent, but he knew Kozik would see to it that word got around.

Bending over her upturned face, Jax placed an intimate kiss on _his_ girl's lips. Pulling back with a wet, smacking sound before flashing her a huge grin, he noted the deep flush on Marlowe's cheeks, combined with the fierce "What the fuck are you doing, asshole?" look that was now plastered on her face.

Turning around, he made his way around the other side of the bed to greet Kozik. "Hey, bro. How's it hanging?"

"I'm doing a'ight, Pres," Kozik said, a bright light of amusement setting his blue eyes sparkling as he reached up to return the warmly extended bro hug.

It took her a minute, but Marlowe was finally able to regain the ability to speak. Refusing to acknowledge that the SAMCRO President—the man she essentially worked for—had nearly sucked the tongue out of her head in front one of his brothers, Marlowe put on a bright smile.

"So, what are you doing here, Pres?" she questioned lightly. "I thought you were tied up all day today with Club business. Don't you have someplace you need to be, like _right_ _now_?" she urged.

Taking a seat across from Marlowe, Jax casually leaned back in his chair. Flashing her with a panty-dropping grin, his eyes fell to the vintage concert tee she wore with "INXS" stretched across her bosom before making eye contact again. "Nope," he replied lightheartedly. "As a matter of fact, since you missed our meeting this morning, I had a huge hole in my schedule, so I decided to stop by and check on Kozik."

Marlowe was somewhat taken aback. "Uh, I'm sorry," she stammered, searching her brain for what possible meeting he might be referring to. "I don't remember any meeting."

"Which might explain why you missed that shit," Kozik said helpfully as Marlowe flashed him another contemptuous look.

"It's a standing meeting, Doc," Jax advised, a playful gleam in his bright blue eyes. "Some days I may need to meet with you twice, maybe three times, but our _meetings_ should always happen at least once a day."

Marlowe's eyes widened almost imperceptibly as Jax's thinly-veiled sexual innuendo slapped her in the face. "I see," she replied passively. "I'm thinking we may need to discuss the _frequency_ of these meetings later, Pres."

Jax chuckled as she turned the ball-shrinking glare on him. "Yeah, I'm guessing we will, darlin'."

"I appreciate you stopping by, Jax," Kozik intruded on the pair's conversation that he was sure they believed only they understood the meaning of. "All good down at the Clubhouse?"

Marlowe sat back and watched as Jax and Kozik talked shop, nothing too heavy as they never knew who was listening, eventually moving on to a discussion of Kozik's progress to date. Sitting quietly as she watched the two men interact comfortably, it became clear to Marlowe that she had nothing to be worried about. As he had promised, Jax seemed to have gotten over his little fit of jealousy regarding Kozik, allowing his genuine concern for his brother's well-being to shine through.

After another ten minutes of back and forth and laughter, Jax stood up and excused himself. "I gotta head back to Charming to pick up Abel and drop him off at Gem's tonight." He was addressing Kozik, but Marlowe got the impression that tidbit of information was for her benefit. Turning to face her, Jax grinned flirtatiously. "Can I see you outside for a minute before I hit the road, Doc?"

"Uh, sure," Marlowe replied guardedly. "I'll be right back," she said to Kozik as she rose out of her chair.

"Take your time. I'll be right here when you get back," Kozik promised with a sly grin.

 _Yay! Lucky me,_ Marlowe thought a little sourly as she followed Jax out the door.

* * *

Standing just outside the entrance to the rehab facility, Marlowe had her arms crossed over her chest as she warily eyed the SAMCRO Pres. Jax noted the battle glint in her heather gray eyes and her combat-ready stance and grinned.

"Aw, I'm in the shit, right, babe, 'cause I know that look," he said more than slightly amused, which Marlowe was well aware of.

"You think it's funny," Marlowe challenged. "And you're quite proud of yourself too, judging by that smug look on your face."

"I don't know what you're talkin' about, darlin'," Jax said appeasingly. "I'm just standing here looking at you look at me like you wanna punch me in the nuts."

"Which right now I'm seriously contemplating doing," Marlowe retorted.

"Why?" Jax asked innocently. "I was in the neighborhood and I figured that Kozy could use some cheering up. That's all I was doing, Doc."

"So what part of cheering Kozik up required you ramming your tongue down my throat? Were you going to bend me over a chair and do me for an encore?" Marlowe asked sarcastically, a hand on her cocked hip. "I haven't told _anyone_ about us, Jax."

 _And that's the problem, darlin'_ , he thought even as he shook his head negatively. "Nah, Marley. I just slipped," he lied with a straight face. "I love those lips of yours and they were calling my name. I just had to answer, like right now," he whispered as he bent over to test the waters with a teasing nip before diving in. Cursing herself for being so weak, Marlowe found her arms crawling up around his neck as she let his tongue in for a slow, sensual dance with hers, oblivious to the foot traffic around them.

"Shit," Marlowe muttered, pulling away as a sharp wolf-whistle penetrated her senses. Turning her head slightly to the side, she caught sight of one of Amelia's nurses, a middle-aged woman gleefully giving her two thumbs up before heading inside. "As much as I _love_ that you love my lips, you 'slipping' is not working out for me, Jax," she pouted. "Do you realize the major ass-probing I'm in for the minute I go back upstairs? I spent enough time trying to dodge this shit with Kozik, but I'm starting to wonder why I should bother. Kozik says that our shit is the talk of the Clubhouse."

Jax arched an eyebrow. "Hap catch wind yet?"

Marlowe shook her head. "I don't think so, but it's only a matter of time before he starts hearing talk," she said. "And if he doesn't hear it from me, it's just going to piss him off but I was hoping to avoid having this conversation with him for just a while longer, outlaw."

Dipping his head, Jax laid a sweet kiss on her lips even as he reached behind her to give her butt a gentle squeeze. Keeping their shit to themselves was the last thing he wanted. It was time to force it out into the open and Jax was starting to realize that maybe it would be best if he spoke to Happy about Marlowe before the shit talk in the Clubhouse went any further.

In the meantime, Jax figured he needed to keep Marlowe's head from imploding, so choosing now to tell her that he wanted her to stick around in Charming probably wasn't the way to go. Unless he wanted to see her run in the opposite direction, Jax was going to have to wait just a bit longer.

"Look, I have complete faith that a bad ass mercenary like you can hold her own against the likes of Happy," he smiled before snatching another quick kiss. Pulling away before he blurted out shit Marlowe wasn't prepared to hear, he started heading towards his bike.

"Shows how much you know!" Marlowe called out after him. "Just remember, I want to be cremated and my ashes buried at Arlington National Cemetery."

Jax shook his head as he laughed. "All I know is that I better see your ass back at the Clubhouse tonight," he called over his shoulder. "No more missing 'meetings'." He stopped to wink at her before getting on his bike.

 _Shit, I must be dick-whipped for sure_ , Marlowe thought with a shake of her head as she watched Jax jump on his ride and pull out into the street. _He may be bossy, but there are certainly a whole lot of benefits to be had being the one to share Jax Teller's bed. Even if Hap ends up killing me._

* * *

**Glossary** **:**

**Chamaco: [slang] young man.**

**Estás loca: Are you crazy?**

**Cría cuervos y te sacarán los ojos: [idiom or saying] Literal translation: Raise crows and they will pluck your eyes out; close in meaning to "no good deed goes unpunished."**


	35. Chapter 35

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sons of Anarchy. I do, however, own Marlowe and any other OCs that appear in the 2 Sons Universe.**

* * *

_**Tuesday, July 13, 2010** _

It was no secret that Happy Lowman loved living the life of an outlaw biker. He was a one-percenter through and through and he embraced labels imposed on him by society such as "degenerate" and "scumbag". If he could, Happy would proudly wear them like patches on his beloved kutte. As a matter of fact, Happy considered faithfully executing his duties on behalf of the MC he loved so much an honor and a privilege. Never one to shy away from the more extreme duties on behalf of the Club, he had earned the nickname Tacoma Killah and the "Unholy One" patch that went along with it. Over the years, Happy's deeds had become the stuff of legend amongst his brethren and he had a baker's dozen of smiley face tattoos on his torso to prove that he had the stones and the loyalty it took to be a Son of Anarchy.

Happy had awoken later than usual on a blistering day in July, however, and soon found that his twenty-year reign as assassin, "cleaner" and all-around go-to man for the Club was in jeopardy. Sitting on a bar stool, minding his own business with a cup of coffee and the last of Bobby's organic blueberry muffins for company, the mother charter's SAA was about to get tasked with a challenge even he was sure he couldn't handle. And he owed it all to Gemma Teller-Morrow.

A night of drinking and whoring until all hours could sure do a number on a man's appetite and the muffin he was chewing on wasn't cutting it, which had Happy contemplating making his way over to Hanna's for a heartier meal before starting his shift at the garage. He knew he was already running late and should probably just make do with the muffin until lunch in order to avoid the ass chewing the SAMCRO Queen would likely dish out when he finally made an appearance. While Jax Teller was the President of the Club, it was Gemma who was T-M's de facto leader and, not one to take tardiness lightly, she ruled the garage with an iron fist.

About to make his way outside, Happy heard the Clubhouse door open and close, followed by the delicate click-clack of high heels announcing the arrival of a woman. Figuring that it was one of the croweaters, Happy took another sip of his coffee and grinned.

 _Actually, a little head followed by some pussy is all a real man needs for breakfast_ , he thought, a grim yet sensual smile ready on his face for the random woman who was about to get plowed sideways. _Mother Gemma's just gonna have to do without me for another minute_ , Happy figured, that is until the female rounded the corner.

"Looks like somebody's in a good mood," Gemma stated and smirked at the suddenly-deflated smile on the biker's face. "Aww, I guess I wasn't what you were expecting, huh?" she guessed, accurately pinpointing the reason behind Happy's now-disgruntled expression.

"Uh, not quite, Ma," Happy replied, managing to wipe the scowl off his face as he eyed the older woman currently struggling with an armful of toddler. Taking another sip of coffee, Happy raised his eyes over the brim of his mug and took note of the wriggling blond bundle barely contained in Gemma's arms. Slung over one shoulder was an enormous zippered bag that probably contained all manner of baby shit under the sun. "Let me get that for ya, Gem," Happy put his coffee down and got up. Stepping towards Gemma, he lifted the oversized and over-packed bag from her shoulder and placed it on the bar top. "Shit's heavy."

Gemma let out a deep sigh of relief. "Thanks, Hap. I think Elyda packed Abel's bag with everything in Jax's house, including the frickin' kitchen sink," she complained.

Happy watched as Abel Teller clung to his grandmother's neck while cautiously eyeing the tall biker. The little boy's deep blue eyes scanned Happy's full length once, then twice. His eyebrows shot up in sudden recognition as he took note of the familiar-looking kutte draped over Happy's T-M work shirt and grinned widely. "Hi," Abel piped up cheerfully.

"Uh, hey there, little man," Happy said guardedly before focusing his gaze on Gemma. "It's been a long time since I've seen Jax's boy on the lot."

"Daddy," Abel chortled at the sound of his father's name, whipping his head about and over Gemma's shoulder to look for him.

"Yeah, the last time was when you boys got out of Stockton," Gemma agreed as she perched her grandson on her hip. "Well, all that's going to change now. You'll be seeing a lot more of this little wrecking ball of energy around here." She focused on Happy speculatively. "Anyway, I came in here looking for one of the Prospects. Anyone around?"

"Nah, nobody here but me," Happy replied. "V-Lin and Ratboy are at the warehouse working on the new shipment and Filthy Phil headed out with Chibs and Tigger on the Niners' run. Why? You need some help?"

"As a matter of fact I do. I could have used any one of them, but now that I think about it, since you're already protecting and watching out for one Teller man, why not two?" She grinned as a look of confusion marred the biker's face.

"Two? You mean Abel here?" Happy asked quizzically as Gemma nodded with a knowing smile on her face. "How?"

"By being the poor sucker who gets to fill in for his nanny today." Moving towards the SAA, Gemma plopped her grandson into his unsuspecting arms and grinned. "In your case, I guess that would make you his 'manny'."

"Fuck no, Gem!" Happy barked as a pair of wide blue eyes stared intently at him. "I can't take care of no kid!"

"Legend has it that you didn't do too bad a job in helping raise Marlowe, so suck it up, cupcake. I'm afraid this isn't up for discussion. Elyda had a family emergency and bailed on me at the last minute and _you're_ the only one around. I am up to my eyeballs with paperwork at the garage and since your ass was late for your shift," Gemma smiled evenly, "I'm afraid you just _volunteered_ to help me out, at least until Chucky comes in this afternoon and can take over in the office." She grinned as she noted the slight look of panic in the outlaw's eyes. "He's not even two yet and maybe as tall as your ankle. How hard can it possibly be for you?"

"Hella hard!" Happy declared. "I don't know shit—"

"Sheet!" Abel crowed loudly.

"—about babies!"

Happy watched as the SAMCRO matriarch directed a hard glare at him fierce enough to shrink a man's nuts down to the size of peanuts. "Figure it out, Ace," Gemma said perfunctorily, leaving no room for argument. "Now, there are some toys in the bag, along with fresh clothes in case he throws up—just be warned, he tends to projectile vomit with a radius of at least two feet—and there are plenty of diapers and baby wipes—"

"DIAPERS?!" Happy roared.

"—and some baby food. He already had breakfast but he'll want a snack soon, so give him the yogurt," Gemma continued.

Happy took the squirming toddler, lifting and tossing him onto his shoulder, ignoring him as he squealed in delight from his upended perch. "Look Gemma, I have much respect for you, but there's just some shit I _don't_ do."

"Not today." Gemma crossed her arms over her chest as she eyed her target. "Today will most definitely be a day filled with firsts for you, Hap, but I have no doubt in your abilities to assess a situation and adapt protocol accordingly. That's what a Sergeant-At-Arms does and that's what you do so well. It doesn't matter if the situation is a bag of heads dumped on the lot or a toddler that started his terrible-twos practically at birth. You _will_ figure it out," she willfully asserted.

"Shit! Fuck! Shit! Shit! Shit!" he muttered as Abel rolled about on his shoulder and giggled.

"And stop cursing in front of my grandson, will ya? It's not the end of the world and it's your own fault anyway. Had you shown up on time for your shift I wouldn't have zeroed in on your ass." The Queen turned and headed toward the exit, no longer hiding the grin on her face. "And don't go tatting up my grandson to pass the time," she ordered. "He'll have plenty of time for that shit when he's a teenager."

The last thing Happy heard was the Clubhouse door slamming shut. Lifting the toddler into the air by the back his miniature-sized jeans until the squirming, giggling youngster stared gleefully into his eyes, Happy shook his head forlornly.

"I am too old for this shit, kid."

Abel nodded in full agreement. "Sheet!"

* * *

Wondering how the fuck he had gotten roped into this shit, Happy grimaced as he looked at the little boy in his arms. The SAA wasn't entirely sure how old Jax's kid was, but if he had to guess, he figured Abel couldn't be any older than two.

"You sure are the spitting image of your old man," he muttered as he took in the child's blond hair and bright blue eyes. "Shit, I hope you at least know how to walk."

Squatting, Happy set the boy down on his sneakered-feet and watched as Abel wobbled a bit before quickly steadying himself.

"Well, at least I don't have to cart you around like a bad habit. C'mon," he said to Abel. Grabbing the baby bag from the bar, Happy headed towards the couches at the other side of the main room, confident that the boy would do as he was told. Tossing the bag on the coffee table, he heard Abel's uneven steps as he trotted behind him.

Plopping down on the couch, Happy eyed Abel carefully, almost like a puzzle he was trying to solve. He figured that in spite of his own fearsome reputation, Gemma Teller-Morrow would wear his balls like earrings if he did anything to terrorize her grandson. While Happy had eventually learned how to deal with an eight year old girl, babies were a completely different animal. Never interested in having any of his own, he knew that this right here was way the fuck out of his wheelhouse. Happy's only saving grace, he figured, was that Abel was a boy. Now, if only he could remember what he had been like as a kid, maybe he could find a way to make this shit work.

"So, whatcha wanna do, kid? I'm open to suggestions." He watched as the toddler reached the edge of the couch and tried to clamber up the side without any help.

 _Determined little guy_ , Happy thought with some admiration as he watched Abel wriggle his way onto the couch, settling down right next to him.

"Toys!" Abel bellowed loudly pointing a chubby finger at his bag.

"Oh, shit," Happy muttered. "That could work." Pulling the oversized bag onto his lap, the outlaw biker dug around until he found a small zippered compartment. "Damn, looks like your Grandma loaded you up with some good shit here," he declared as he reached in and pulled out several toy cars and a couple of motorcycles. He grinned as the boy squealed in excitement, his chubby hands grabbing the bike that was offered to him.

"All right, little dude, now we're cookin' with gas." Happy tossed the bag to the side of the couch and dumped the rest of the toys onto the surface of the coffee table. Getting down onto the floor and shoving his long legs under the table, he motioned to the boy. "Let me show you the beauty of one of these bad boys," and grinned as the little boy slid off the couch to join him.

_Maybe this shit won't be too bad after all._

* * *

Turning the corner from her dorm, Marlowe had her sketchbook in hand as she made her way to the main room. Having showered after her usual morning workout and take-out breakfast, the Club medic thought it would be nice to spend the morning sketching at one of the picnic tables outside before taking off for the day.

After spending a restless night alone, Marlowe had been up earlier than what was usual as of late. Now that Jax Teller was a free agent, the only thing that had changed—other than their blossoming relationship—was the amount of time he spent at the Clubhouse. Jax was spending more nights at home with his son, which Marlowe believed was as it should be. It was becoming clear to her that Jax had a family he loved very much and his own set of obligations away from the Club. Although the SAMCRO Pres had put his foot down regarding Marlowe's place in his life, she still wasn't convinced she was making the right decision concerning her future, especially since Jax had not yet introduced her to his son.

So Marlowe was quite surprised as she rounded the corner into the bar area and spotted her brother. And it was the company he was keeping that threw her for a loop.

"Shit on a stick," she murmured under her breath as she took in the sight of her terminally grouchy brother sprawled on the floor, his arms wrapped around a tiny little boy. To Marlowe's amazement, he was actually _laughing_ and making what sounded like car noises.

"Va-room, room," the little boy babbled in imitation of the man that was pushing a toy motorcycle over the surface of the coffee table.

"That's right, kid," she heard her brother say encouragingly. "We'll make a biker out of you yet."

"Daddy's bike!" the little boy crowed as he held up another toy bike in his hand.

"Yeah, well, that one ain't as nice as the real thing, but it's not bad," Marlowe heard her brother reply.

Marlowe didn't know if her mind could take it. She felt near to passing out from shock as she continued to watch Happy laughing and engaging the toddler in what limited conversation he could manage. Quietly propping herself against the bar, she opened her sketchbook and pulling out the pencil from behind her ear, began to quickly capture the two seemingly bosom buddies.

She didn't need a formal introduction to know exactly who the baby was. _Abel looks so much like his father_ , Marlowe mused as she outlined the shape of the boy's eyes and his smile that already mirrored Jax's so completely. _He has his father's temperament too_ , she thought with a smile as the little boy suddenly put down his toy and fixed a stern eye on his caregiver.

Taking the outlaw biker's face in his tiny hands, Abel exclaimed, "Hunree!"

"What?" Happy asked, his brow wrinkled as he tried to comprehend what he was saying.

"Hunree," the little boy said with a sweet tilt of his head, still holding onto Happy's face. Marlowe was on the verge of squealing, it was the cutest thing she had ever seen.

"Oh, shit, you're hungry?" Happy asked, looking as if at a loss of what to do as the boy nodded fiercely. "A'ight then," he muttered and Marlowe nearly snorted in laughter as her brother started digging through a large diaper bag, haphazardly tossing its contents on the couch.

Finding a small cup of yogurt and baby spoon, Happy grabbed the boy and sat him on the coffee table, Marlowe assumed, to make feeding easier.

 _Shit, he's gonna make a mess of it_ , Marlowe predicted as she watched him shove a fully loaded spoon into the boy's mouth. _Even I know that the kid should be wearing a bib thingy_. And Marlowe was justified in her speculation when a large glob of yogurt ended up on the baby's t-shirt instead of in his mouth.

"Shit!" Happy growled.

"Sheet," Abel repeated gleefully.

At that, Marlowe finally decided to make her presence known. "I could have told you that was gonna happen." She watched as her brother's body jerked to attention as he focused his eyes on her. She could tell that he was mortified at being caught in such a predicament and she fully intended to revel in it.

"What the fu—he—what are you doing here?" Happy blustered.

"Uh, _I live here_ ," Marlowe replied sarcastically as she sauntered forward watching as the little boy twisted to the side to eye her curiously.

"You know what I mean, little girl. I thought you went to see Ma this morning," Happy replied as he picked up the box of baby wipes he had tossed on the couch in his efforts to find the yogurt. Pulling out a couple of damp sheets, he started haphazardly mopping up the spill.

"You're doing it all wrong, asshole," Marlowe scolded before striding forward. Tossing her sketchbook on one of the tables, she took the wipes from her brother and smiled at the little boy. "Hey there, little guy. Let me help you with that." She gently wiped the mess off the boy's t-shirt as she shook her head disdainfully at her brother. "You were smearing it into his clothes."

"It ain't like he don't have any more. There's like a month's worth of crap for him to wear in that bag," he said irritably. "You still haven't answered my question. Why are you here?"

Marlowe sighed theatrically. "Tía's therapy session got moved up to the morning, so I won't be seeing her and Ceci until later this afternoon. What I want to know is how the big bad biker wolf ended up on babysitting detail. Re-living your Prospect days, are we?" she teased.

"The 'how' ain't important," Happy replied as he brushed off his sister's snide comments. "Now say hi to Jax's kid. Kid, this is my pain in the ass little sister Marlowe. Say 'hi, Marlowe'," he said, having to repeat his order several times.

Looking up at the woman squatting in front of him with huge baby blue eyes, Abel grinned widely as he repeated as the outlaw directed with some difficulty. "Hi, Arlo."

"Uh, hey there, Abel," she replied hesitantly, proffering a smile in return. "God, you're just a cutie, aren't you?" She laughed as the little boy nodded his head energetically. "And definitely a chip off the old block."

"Yeah, so take good care of him," Happy ordered standing up from the floor. "Next shift is yours, little girl."

"Say what? The hell it is!" she exclaimed flabbergasted.

"Why not? You have tits, dont'cha?"

"And what the hell does that have to do with anything?" Marlowe hissed quietly keeping a smile on her face so as not to alarm the little boy who was eying her warily. "If you expect me to breast feed him, I'm sure that's not how it works, asshole."

"It means you're a bitch, smartass, so put those maternal instincts to work and look after the kid," he ordered. "And don't fu— _mess_ up, otherwise Gemma will stuff and mount your dead carcass over the bar."

"Maternal instincts? Me?" Marlowe nearly gasped. "You're insane. The mommy-gene does NOT run in my family. You know this."

"Figure it out, grunt," Happy shot back. He stooped down to meet Abel's gaze. "I gotta go now, but uh, _Arlo_ here's gonna play with you for a bit while I go let your grandma know I'm hitting the bricks, so you be good, okay?"

"I be good," the toddler promised with a firm nod.

Happy quickly headed towards the door. "Oh, and finish giving him that yogurt crap," he called over his shoulder just before the Clubhouse door slammed shut behind him.

"Eat," Abel said plaintively as he eyed the yogurt on the coffee table.

"Damn it, Hap," Marlowe muttered as she shot a fierce glare towards the exit door. "Well," she sighed, resigned to her fate. "I survived a war, how hard can feeding a baby be? Okay, little man. Let's see if we can do this right."

Looking at the mess on the boy's shirt, Marlowe figured she could at least try to stop it from getting any worse. Digging through the mountain of baby paraphernalia on the couch, she finally found what she was looking for.

"Okay, let's get this on you," she muttered as she fastened the bib with the Velcro-closure around the tot's small neck, grinning as she noticed its design. "The latest in baby biker gear, I see. Talk about indoctrination from the cradle," she snickered as she looked at the fierce Reaper and the words "SAMCRO BABY" emblazoned on the bib in the Club's distinctive lettering.

Abel, with his little bow-mouth still smeared with yogurt, looked adorable. Wishing she had a real phone instead of a cheap burner to take a picture, Marlowe tried to fix the picture in her head to draw later.

"Eat," Abel repeated, a little militantly.

"All right, buddy. Keep your diaper on." Marlowe scrutinized the boy before carefully picking him up and settling him in her lap. Grabbing the container of yogurt, she loaded just enough on the spoon and offered it to the youngster, sighing with relief when he latched onto it eagerly and managed not to choke on it.

Making "mmmm" noises and chortling happily under his breath, Abel spent a considerable amount of time eating and staring at his new sitter, which she soon found a little unnerving. Amelia had always said that she had been pretty direct as a child, even at ten, but it was obvious that Jax's son came from pretty tough stock too and wasn't easily thrown by meeting someone new.

Finally scraping the bottom of the empty container, Marlowe offered the boy a wry smile when he turned his lip up at the empty spoon. "Sorry, kiddo, but it's all gone."

"Juice!" he countered in a demanding tone.

"How about we try, 'juice, please'," she suggested fixing a stern eye on him.

Apparently, the boy had been taught what Tía would call some home training as a moment later he offered, "Juice, peas."

Chuckling, Marlowe nodded in approval as she dug around the bag until she found a sippy cup and a box of apple juice. Juggling the little boy in one arm while filling the cup with the other hadn't been easy, but she finally managed it. Abel gave a sigh of relief as he lifted the cup to his lips, leaning back into the crook of her arm.

"Well, look at you, making yourself all comfy, huh?" she snarked.

Realizing that she would probably be there for the duration as twenty minutes had passed without the SAMCRO matriarch busting down the door, Marlowe settled herself into the corner of the couch. Stretching her long legs to rest on the coffee table, Marlowe nuzzled Abel's sweet-smelling blond head as the young prince enjoyed his juice. Feeling the warmth of his little body pressed against hers, Marlowe felt her eyes starting to drift closed.

Moments later, however, it was the sudden and strained vibrating from the boy in her arms that alerted her that something was up. Opening her eyes, Marlowe looked down and noted the look of intense effort on the toddler's face, and felt the groan before she heard it.

"What's up, buddy?" she asked cautiously as Abel alternately sucked down his juice and groaned. What was up soon became crystal clear as a powerfully strong order hit the air and assaulted her nostrils. "Aw, really? Did you just drop a deuce on me?!" she couldn't help but laugh. In response, the boy removed the sippy cup from his mouth and let out a resounding burp before smiling widely. "Damn, you are definitely outlaw biker material. I bet you learned that shit straight from Piney," she exclaimed, not noticing the Clubhouse door swing open.

It was Abel's loud cry of "Daddy!" that made the Club medic sit up and take notice of the astonished look on the handsome face of the SAMCRO Pres.

* * *

The last thing that Jax had expected to find when he walked into the Clubhouse was his son endearingly ensconced in Marlowe's arms.

Having spent the morning on a run to Oak-Town to deliver the Niners' latest shipment, Jax had returned to Charming for the express purpose of tracking down his sexy medic. Over the last month, Jax had been splitting his time unrelated to Club business between being with her at the Club and with his son at home. It had proven to be a challenge at times, but little by little, Jax found that his life was settling into a comfortable and enjoyable rhythm.

Returning from Oakland, Jax made a quick stop at the office to check on the current workload in the garage. Assuring him that she had all the help she needed, Gemma had slyly informed him that there was someone in the Clubhouse that would probably love to spend some time with him now that he had returned to the lot. Having spent a restless night alone after putting Abel to bed, Jax had hoped to find the woman he had been missing. He had, only she wasn't alone and the picture she painted sitting on the couch with his son resting comfortably in her arms made his heart beat just a little faster.

_They really look at home together._

"Hey, little man! Wasn't expecting to find you here," Jax said grinning as his son suddenly wriggled out of Marlowe's grasp and slid onto the floor. With Abel running wobbly towards him, Jax bent down to scoop the giggling boy into his arms as his cries of "Daddy! Daddy!" echoed throughout the room.

"Hey, there," Jax grinned as he tousled the boy's hair, quickly doubling back as the load in Abel's diaper sucker-punched him on the nose. "Whew! You're a little rank, huh?" he muttered as he looked into his son's laughing eyes. Looking over the top of his head, Jax watched as Marlowe stood up and shoved her hands into the pockets of her cargo pants.

"Hi," she said rather hesitantly.

"Hey, Doc," he returned with a smile as he positioned Abel comfortably in his arms before walking over to Marlowe. Reaching for her with his free arm, Jax swooped in and pressed a delicious kiss to her lips. "Looks like you've met my little guy."

"Yeah, quite by accident too," Marlowe replied. "I kind of got pressed into service. I hope you don't mind."

Jax quirked an eyebrow as he noticed her apprehension. "Why would I mind?" he queried.

Marlowe shrugged her shoulders. "It's nothing, really," she replied evasively.

Jax gently caressed her cheek before tipping her chin up so that her eyes met his. "Babe, then why am I getting the vibe that it is?"

"It's no big deal, Jax, really," Marlowe started with a slight shake of her head. "I mean, for the most part, we've been keeping what we have going on to ourselves. I just figured since you never bring Abel around that meant you prefer keeping your family life separate from _us_ and I understand. If that's what you want, I'm totally fine with it," she concluded somewhat unconvincingly.

 _Teller, you're such a fuckin' idiot_ , Jax chided to himself as he noted the underlying hurt in her voice.

"No, shit, no. That's not it at all, babe. I promise," Jax said. Grabbing her by the hand, he led her to one of the tables and gestured for her to sit down as he and Abel took a seat across from her. "After things ended with my ex, I've been doing what I can to reconnect with Abel. He's adjusting to the changes a lot better than I thought he would, but I just wasn't sure when would be the right time to introduce you into his life. I didn't want to push him or you into something you're not ready for yet. Believe me, Marley," Jax stated as he brought Marlowe's hand to his lips and pressed a kiss against her fingers. "I've been dying to introduce you to my son."

Marlowe smiled as a heaviness she didn't know she was carrying lifted from her chest. "When you put it like that, it makes sense," she said quietly. "I'm sorry, Jax. I feel like a complete idiot now."

"Don't, babe." Jax smiled. "This is all new for me too."

"You know what else is new?" she asked with a wrinkled nose. "That stench your boy has brewing in his pants."

"I am well aware, darlin'. You try having this conversation while holding your breath," Jax smirked as he lifted his kid up in the air towards Marlowe. "You know, this would be a really good time for you to show off some parenting skills."

"Nice try, outlaw," she retorted, crossing her arms over her chest. "But I would much rather see 'Daddy' at work."

"It was worth a try, darlin'." Jax shrugged his shoulders. "Okay, little man, let's get you cleaned up."

The trio moved back to the couch where Marlowe watched silently as Jax grabbed a changing pad from the heap of baby products and stretched his son out on it. Expertly stripping Abel of his pants, Jax looked up at Marlowe. "Okay, here's where shit gets real," he grinned as Marlowe handed him a fresh diaper. Surprisingly, the SAMCRO Pres made quick work of thoroughly cleaning and changing his son, who seemed quite content to wriggle about and babble to his father as he worked.

"You wanna get rid of that for me, Doc?" Jax held out the soiled diaper for her to grab.

"Not really," she started but noting his raised eyebrow said, "I guess that really wasn't a request, was it?" she smiled cheekily.

"Not really, no."

Taking the funky bundle from Jax, Marlowe quickly made her way to the Club's public bathroom located at the far end of the dormitory hallway. Returning to the main room, she found that Jax had managed to redress Abel in a fresh set of clothes.

"Here, babe, take him while I pack this shit up."

Reaching down, Marlowe took the youngster who immediately wrapped his arms around her neck and watched with great interest as his father managed to re-pack everything into the bag.

"I'm impressed, Pres," Marlowe smiled as she bounced Abel in her arms.

"I'm a man of many talents, Doc," Jax said, straightening up to plant a longer, more intimate kiss on her lips as Abel looked on with great interest.

 _Now that's what I've been waiting to see_ , Gemma thought with a smile after entering the Clubhouse unnoticed. Leaving her grandson alone with the medic had been a smart move she concluded, noting just how much at home Abel looked in Marlowe's arms. _Hopefully, I'm not the only that noticed._

After taking over the Club and with the doctor bitch now nothing more than just a bad memory, all that was left for her Jackson to achieve was finding true happiness with a deserving woman. Although Clay would probably argue that sometimes she went above and beyond the call of duty in seeing to the happiness of her son, Gemma never regretted anything she would do or had done for him or the Club. After all, she had been put on this earth to be a fierce mother and she took pride in a job well done.

Sometimes, pulling the strings from behind the scenes could prove to be a risky business, however. Leaving Abel alone with Marlowe, not knowing where Jax's head was concerning the medic could have backfired, but seeing how comfortable her grandson was in Marlowe's arms, Gemma smiled inwardly.

_Not so long ago, I could hardly wait for the day Marlowe Guthrie would get her ass on the I-22 heading back to Bakersfield. Now, I have to figure out a way to keep her around until Jax sees the potential this woman has for being a big and important part of our family._

Finally striding forward, Gemma smiled hugely. "So I see you found our little visitor."

"Gamma," Abel greeted happily, squirming until Marlowe had no choice but to set him down on the floor or risk dropping him. Abel hit the floor running as he made his way to Gemma.

"Yeah, Ma, I did," Jax replied, "including the surprise guest in his pants."

"Oh, I should have warned you to expect that about this time," Gemma directed at Marlowe as she picked up her grandson and placed him on her cocked hip. "You would think Abel's blood-related to Piney, you could set your clock to his bowel movements."

"Okay, probably more than I needed to know about Piney, but it was no big deal," Marlowe shook her head. "Jax got here just in time for diaper duty."

"Well, thanks for watching him. I got caught up at the office, otherwise I would have been here sooner," Gemma explained.

"No problem. Anytime I can lend a hand, just hit me up," Marlowe replied genuinely. "I have catch up on some things before I head out to check on Amelia, so I'll see you later, okay, buddy?" she said to Abel as she gently squeezed his knee.

"Bye, bye, Arlo," Abel said sweetly as he kissed his hand in an attempt to blow kisses at Marlowe.

"Aww, look at that," Gemma smiled as Marlowe waved good-bye and headed to the dorms. "Working that Teller charm already, huh?"

Stepping over to Gemma, Jax leaned in to press a kiss on his son's forehead. "Can you watch little man here for an hour or so, Ma?" he asked Gemma with an eye on Marlowe's retreating back. "I'm gonna see if Doc can use a hand with anything." He flashed his mother a sly grin.

"I'm sure I can handle it," Gemma allowed with a knowing smile.

"Thanks. I'll catch up with you later," Jax replied as he set off after Marlowe.

"Okay, baby boy. It's just you and me. How about we go outside and play on the swing while Daddy takes himself a little 'nap' with _Arlo_?" Gemma said as she bounced her giggling grandson.

"Swing!" Abel crowed and without a backward glance towards the dorms, Gemma headed quickly for the exit.


	36. Chapter 36

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sons of Anarchy. I do, however, own Marlowe and any other OCs that appear in the 2 Sons Universe.**

* * *

_**Friday, July 16, 2010** _

The sun was sitting low in the sky, about to set, when Jax, his two officers and several Prospects made their way into Charming. It had been a long day of nothing but Club business and Jax found that he would have much preferred working in the garage. Although he had accomplished a lot at the warehouse in terms of the assembly of AKs and MAC-10s, Jax had been preoccupied most of the day by thoughts of a certain caramel-haired beauty.

His preoccupation with Marlowe, Jax realized, wasn't anything new or unusual, not even when they found themselves in the same room together. The truth of the matter was that Jax had been enthralled by her since probably the first day they'd met. Before Marlowe, the only other woman to occupy his thoughts on a near-constant basis had been Tara. Tara had been his first and only love and for a long time—ten long years—Jax had believed that he was destined and cursed to never love anyone but her. But once again, he was starting to realize, that had been _before_ Marlowe.

Marlowe's recent introduction to his son had Jax feeling all kinds of emotions about her and their situation together. He no longer had any doubt in his mind as to what it was he truly felt for Marlowe. He _loved her_ and he _wanted her_ to stay in Charming. It seemed, however, that when it came to finding and keeping love and happiness, Jax was his own worst enemy.

With Marlowe fixated on keeping things "loose" between them, it had not occurred to Jax that someone as capable, smart and strong as the medic would feel insecure enough to accept their relationship as nothing more than a series of booty calls. As much as he loved women, it was starting to dawn on Jax real quick just how clueless he was about the opposite sex. In an effort to keep their relationship moving forward without putting pressure on her, Jax had almost sabotaged his own efforts by keeping Abel at arm's length from Marlowe.

_She actually thought I'd be upset about her meeting Abel 'behind my back'!_

That had been a major misstep on his part and the SAMCRO Pres was quickly learning that there were parts of Marlowe that would probably always remain an enigma to him. She was an uncommon woman and he had to learn not to judge or compare Marlowe or her actions against the standards he had grown accustomed to in the women in his life before her.

Although now determined to bring his son into her life and vice versa, Jax knew that he would have to tread lightly nonetheless and not push too hard. Unlike Tara, who at one point during their relationship had made it clear that she expected stability from him, including marriage, children, and no other women in his life, Marlowe came across like she didn't need or want anything more from him than just sex. In that regard, the former Navy Corpsman definitely had more in common with the members of SAMCRO than she did with their women.

In the end, however, Marlowe was still a woman and as such in the male-dominated military, Jax was sure, she must have had a hard time earning the respect and trust of the men she served with. In the Navy, like she would undoubtedly learn if she hung around MCs long enough, there were just some men that would never accept a woman as an equal, no matter how tough and bad ass she was. For those men, women were incapable of possessing the warrior-like killer instinct.

 _Whether bikers or soldiers, those men obviously have never met Gemma_ , Jax smirked to himself.

Now, after a decade of serving her country during a war, Marlowe had been thrown back into the so-called real world with the expectation that she function like a normal civilian woman. Even though their worlds had only recently collided, Jax knew Marlowe well enough to know that forcing her into a more sedate and traditional role would never happen. Aside from his own mother, Jax had never known a woman who had been able to so easily immerse herself into Club life, quickly adapting and learning to cope with the sometimes gritty reality of living an outlaw lifestyle. Although a healer by nature like Tara, Marlowe was Tara's polar opposite in that Doc was the type of woman that would fight and kill in order to protect those in her care.

There was no doubt in Jax's mind that if Marlowe had been the one to face off with Cameron Hayes, there was no way in hell the Irishman would have taken Abel and Half-Sack would still be alive. Not only would she have slit Cammy from balls to throat with her own KA-BAR, she would have made herself a sandwich while she waited for SAMCRO to come clean up the mess.

_Even though she only just met him, I know that Marley would have taken a bullet for my son._

Despite possessing physical as well as inner strength, Jax knew Marlowe had her share of flaws and vulnerabilities. After all, he had witnessed for himself how her unconscious mind dealt with the atrocities she had experienced in Afghanistan. Jax was also sure that the righteous declaration that she didn't answer to any man except for Uncle Sam was a clear indicator that she had a fear of commitments personal in nature. As far as Jax was concerned, however, that was just one more thing they had in common. In his whole life he had only ever committed himself to one woman, Tara Knowles. Not even Wendy Case, his legal wife for all of two years and mother of his son, could pin him down long enough to make shit work, so he understood where the fear came from.

He just didn't give a shit.

Fear of commitment was just one more obstacle that Marlowe Guthrie was going to have to get over because, in their short time together, one thing had become abundantly clear: Jax wanted and needed Marlowe in his life. Now, all he had to do was to convince her of this fact. Hopefully, _before_ Happy's mom returned to Bakersfield, taking Marlowe with her.

Jax was so intent on figuring out a way of getting through to Marlowe that he hadn't heard his SAA shout over the roar of their engines as they pulled into the lot, "Looks like we got company!"

Not really in the mood for anyone's company except for Doc's, Jax's brows furrowed in irritation behind his bike glasses as he eyed the large black Lincoln Continental parked outside the Clubhouse. Pulling his ride into its customary spot, Jax removed his gear as his eyes zeroed in on the two figures sitting at the picnic table, his mother Gemma and Elliot Oswald.

"What's Oswald doing here?" Opie asked perplexed, his words and tone mirroring Jax's own thoughts.

"Probably looking for somebody to do his dirty work," Happy replied candidly as he removed his bike glasses and slipped on his shades.

Jax shoved his helmet onto the handlebars and watched as Clay, who had pulled in behind them, disembarked from his ride and quickly headed over to greet the wealthy businessman and Charming's favorite son.

"There's only one way to find out," Jax said grimly as he preceded Opie and Happy to the Clubhouse. Walking into the midst of the group, Jax bent over to kiss his mother as Elliot stood up. "Hey, Ma. I see we have a visitor," he said holding out a hand to be gripped by Oswald. "Hi, Elliot. You been here long?"

"Just a few minutes, Jax," the tall and distinguished-looking man replied. "Gem was kind enough to keep me company."

"I was delighted to," Gemma smiled graciously. "I told him you boys would be pulling in soon so it made sense for him to wait a while. "Besides, it gave us time to catch up. It was especially good to hear that Tristan is doing so well."

"Your little girl must not be so little any more," Clay said congenially. "Glad to hear she's okay."

"Thanks, I really appreciate that," Elliot replied sincerely. "I don't want to take up too much of your time, so I guess I should get to the reason for my visit."

"Well," Gemma said standing up as she eyed the group of men. "That's my cue to scram. I have some shit to take care of anyway, so I'll see you around, Elliot," she said before turning and heading towards the office.

Clay gestured to the picnic table. "Have a seat, Elliot," he said. "Tell me what's going on."

As the two men moved to take seats at the table, Opie raised an eyebrow at his best friend. The fact that Clay was taking the lead as if the "President" patch had evaporated from Jax's kutte had not gone unnoticed. Jax, however, shook his head silently and followed the two men. Choosing to stand directly in front of Oswald, Jax crossed his arms over his chest with Opie and Happy flanking him. They were soon joined by Bobby, Chibs and Juice who had been lingering outside the Clubhouse.

"I thought I should come down in person to give the Club a heads up," Elliot began. "I had a meeting with Jacob Hale and several other City Council members this afternoon. Hale announced that he has finally secured the last of his investors for the Charming Heights project. If all goes according to plan, he expects to break ground again within the next 6-8 months."

"So," Clay started, thoughtfully stroking the hair on his face. "Junior's finally one step closer to achieving his little upscale utopian dream. I'm guessing you must be thrilled," he said sarcastically as he watched Elliot run an anxious hand over his graying hair.

"Damn it, Clay. You know I'm just as unhappy about this as you are, but what choice did I have? Charming Heights going through is the only way I stand to recoup some of the money for the land I lost because of that imminent domain bullshit Hale pulled, the _same_ land that I put up as bond to get the Club out of County. I _need_ assurances from you that SAMCRO won't pull any more stunts in an effort to block this development from happening. That shit with those dead Russians—"

Clay held up both hands, a picture of innocence. "Hey, there's no proof my crew had anything to do with that, Elliot. If there were, would we be standing here having this conversation?"

"Clay, I haven't gotten to where I am today by being naïve and I know how the Club operates," Elliot retorted harshly. "Quite frankly, after the stink raised by those dead mobsters, it was a minor miracle that Hale managed to find some foreign investors to continue the project. Out of respect for the friendship I have with the Club, I need to know that this deal is going to happen."

"If it's meant to happen, Elliot, I'm sure it will," Clay said suavely, "but if it makes you feel any better, as far as the Club is concerned, I will personally guarantee that nothing on our end will stop it from going forward. Scout's Honor," he said using his large index finger to cross his chest.

* * *

"We gotta put a stop to this shit and quick!" Clay's tone brooked no argument as he looked to Jax sitting at the head of the table.

"Uh, what about Scout's Honor?" Bobby asked jokingly.

"I was _never_ a fuckin' Scout," the older biker replied as he clipped the end of his cigar and lit up.

With the normal day-to-day business being dealt with during the first half of Church, it seemed that things were about to take a hard left as the former SAMCRO President introduced the subject that was foremost on his mind.

"I don't see how _we_ can put a stop to anything now," Jax deadpanned, "seeing how _you_ promised Oswald that SAMCRO would support his request."

"I don't give a fuck what I promised," Clay retorted as he pointed his cigar at Jax. "You and I both know this Charming Heights bullshit cannot happen. With Charming PD gone, we already have an increased police presence up our collective ass led by the high and mighty Sheriff Roosevelt. The last thing we need is some yuppie mansion paradise taking root right in our backyard."

"A place like that is bound to cause a population explosion," Miles contributed.

"Charming Heights is being marketed to the rich and successful," Juice added. "The kind of wealth with connections in all the right places."

"And aren't afraid to use 'em to get what they want," Bobby opined. "Like more state and federal money poured into the Sanwa budget in order to bring in more cops so they can feel nice and safe in their McMansions."

"And more cops means more eyes focused on any local criminal activity," Clay said. "That's bad for business, _our_ business. We can't let that happen while we're working with the Cartel. Romeo is counting on us to keep our shit off the radar, not to mention Galen."

"The last thing we wanna do, bruthas, is to fuck around with the Real IRA's money. We hae to keep the Irish pipeline open and free of interference by da pigs."

Leaning back in his chair, Jax sat quietly as his brothers continued to dissect the issue of Charming Heights, bouncing around theories and suggestions on how to bring the project to a halt. Clay certainly did have a point, Jax surmised. There would definitely be a negative impact on SAMCRO's ability to run guns once the new development opened. It was even possible that there would be a renewed effort starting right now to rid Charming of the MC in order to make the development more attractive to potential buyers. Jax, however, didn't have a problem with the thought of losing the gun business, but the only way to walk away from it unscathed would be to have the Cartel and the Irish walk away first. It was during these musings that Jax heard his Intel Officer share some information that might be of some use.

"Maybe we won't have too much to worry about if what I've heard from Floyd is anything to go by," Juice offered.

"What the fuck did you hear, asshole?" Happy asked as he lit up a cigarette. "What good Intel can possibly come from a man willing to take credit for that mess on your head anyways?"

As the brothers laughed around the table, Juice rolled his eyes at the smirking SAA. "Hey, it took a lot of time and training to get Floyd to do my shit right. It was that, or keep going to Oakland to get my hair did."

"Okay, is it me or did that just sound totally gay?" Tig cackled.

" _Anyway_ ," Juice cut in through the laughter, "from what Floyd was telling me, Charming Heights isn't a done deal like Elliot and Hale seem to think."

"And how does Floyd figure that?" Jax wanted to know.

"We were just shooting the shit last week while Floyd gave me a touch up. Apparently, a couple of the locals had been in the shop talking about the development. One of the guys is a staffer for a City Council member. It seems like there's a widening gap between the members on whether or not the project will really benefit Charming," Juice explained. "They've already passed several measures to change zoning laws, but they still need a majority vote to approve the actual construction. If it doesn't pass, the land reverts back to Oswald and the development would be a bust. There may be one or two hold-outs at the most and the vote could go either way. I'm thinking it sounds like a situation we might be able to exploit without shedding any blood."

"That's a good idea, Juicy Boy," Clay crowed. "We should definitely look into that shit."

"It's an option," Jax interjected noncommittally, "but we've got a lot on our plate right now. Clay, I need you to stay focused on keeping our Cartel cash cow operating smoothly by keeping Galen happy, you being his boy and all," he said, noting the light of resentment spark in Clay's clear blue eyes. "You don't need the distraction and I already got a couple of ideas cooking up here." Jax tapped his head. "If you have the time to spare, Juice, I want you looking into this a little more, pulling together as much info on the City Council as you can dig up. Everybody good with that?"

As the his brothers acquiesced to their President's reasoning, Jax made brief eye contact with his VP before picking up the gavel. "Then it's a wrap, boys," he said, slamming it down to end the meeting.

* * *

The SAMCRO Pres and his VP remained seated at the Reaper table as they watched the mass exodus to the bar. As the Chapel doors closed behind the last patch to exit, Jax cocked an eye at his brother.

"That was some pretty interesting shit," he said as Opie grabbed a cigarette from a pack lying on the table before tossing it to Jax.

"Uh, yeah, that it was, brother," Opie replied lighting up. "Looks like Clay is pretty hot to quash this development deal. He certainly had no problem taking the lead during the meet with Oswald, did he?"

"No, he didn't," Jax replied as he blew out a stream of blue smoke. "I'm glad someone besides me noticed Clay waving his dick around in my face."

"Kinda hard not to, bro," Opie smirked. "I'm sure Hap caught it too. He's probably waiting to see where your head's at first before weighing in on it."

"Maybe," Jax said before shaking his head. "Or maybe it's just our own shit getting in the way."

"Oh, you mean shit like that little fling you have going with Doc?" The VP grinned as Jax's eyebrows nearly rose into his hairline.

"Where the fuck did that come from?" Jax asked incredulously.

_Damn, Marley was right about this shit being widespread._

"Come on, Jax. _Everybody's_ talking about you two, especially after you dragged Marley off to your dorm last week." The big man's shoulders shook with silent laughter at the sincerely surprised look on Jax's face. "The SAMCRO Pres is hooking up with a new lady and you think that shit happens in a vacuum? Not around here it don't, brother."

"Shit," Jax groused. "I guess I wasn't too far off the mark about shit getting in the way between me and Hap then. How the fuck am I still breathing?"

Opie shook his head. "Nah, Jax. I wouldn't say it's all that serious. Hap is still your brother in spite of what personal shit gets in the way. 'Sides, I doubt he's heard the talk 'cause _no one_ wants to be the one responsible for dropping the dime about your—um—change of status on the Tacoma Killah."

"You bunch of fuckin' gossipy old hens," Jax practically snarled at Opie. "What 'change' you talking about?"

"Duh, you going from having no old lady to having a new —" Opie grinned as he was cut off.

"Whoa! Ope, don't you think you're jumping the gun just a little?"

"Maybe. I mean, nobody's actually referring to Marley as your old lady—"

"Except for you," Jax smirked.

Opie shrugged his shoulders. "It's only a matter of time, right?"

Jax flicked ashes into the glass ashtray sitting between him and Opie as he paused in thought before looking up to meet his brother's eyes. "You're the only one I would ever ask, Ope," he started quietly. "What do you think about me and Marlowe getting together?"

Opie also paused to gather his thoughts, knowing that above all else, his best friend valued his opinion. All he knew for sure was that he had been waiting a hell of a long time to see Jax happy and now, with Tara out of the picture for good, the chances of that happening had improved dramatically. After all Jax had been through the past two years, Opie was sure no one would begrudge him finding a little happiness. Not even the overprotective brother of the young woman behind his brother's good mood as of late.

"I understand how Doc being related to Hap might complicate things, but I can't say I blame ya for pressing up on _that_ ," Opie started candidly, bringing a small smile to Jax's face. What he said next surprised him as well. "I don't think Hap would either."

After a long moment of silent contemplation, Jax replied, "I'm not too sure about that, brother."

"Have you spoken to him about Marlowe?" Opie asked.

Jax shook his head. "I respect Hap and I know I can trust him with my life," he started, "but when it comes to Marley, shit's complicated enough without bringing third parties into the mix. I have to figure out what _she_ wants first. For all I know, I could just be blowing up shit between us in my mind."

Opie furrowed his brow as he looked at Jax. "Get the fuck outta here! The mere mention of your name has panties dropping all over NorCal and you're telling me that you have no idea where her head's at? Like there's any doubt that it's not all over your jock even as we speak."

Jax smirked as he took one last puff of his cigarette before extinguishing it in the ashtray. "Let's just say that Doc runs a little deeper than most of the women that have ever walked through the Clubhouse doors."

"Yeah, I get that," Opie nodded in agreement. "She's a tough bitch. I don't see her falling apart at the first sign of trouble, but I don't see _any_ man having an easy time with her either. I mean, she don't exactly seem like the docile barefoot-and-pregnant type, you know?"

"She's not," Jax readily agreed. Pausing for a moment, he looked up to meet his brother's eyes. "But I'm sure that's not what I want either. This life ain't easy, bro, you know this. I need someone like her in my life. I'm just not so sure I'm what she needs," he said afraid that a life with him would have a negative impact on her PTSD. But then again, it was just another reason that made Jax even more determined to get the Club earning straight and going legit.

Opie leaned back in his chair, and blew several smoke rings above his head before he spoke. He could certainly understand where Jax was coming from, especially as a man carrying a load of baggage from the past into his new marriage. "Doesn't really matter what either of you _need_ , Jax," he said wisely. "Ultimately, all its gonna boil down to is what she _wants_. The heart always trumps common-fuckin'-sense."

"I guess, but I just don't know what it is that she wants, bro," Jax claimed.

"Then ask her," Opie advised. "Listen, I like Doc. I _love_ you. The two of you together, I can't call it right now but I can tell she means something to you and, if that's the case, do something about it. Don't sit on it too long second guessing yourself because women like Marlowe only come around once and from what I've heard, she's heading back to Bakersfield as soon as Hap's mom gets out of rehab. You need to figure shit out before that happens."

Jax looked at Opie and shook his head. "I love you too, Ope," he started, "but I sure as shit ain't any closer to working anything out in my head after talking to you."

"It's the best I can do for now. 'Sides, it's your own damn fault for coming to _me_ of all people for advice on your love life," Opie smirked as stubbed out his cigarette. "Maybe we should stick with something I _can_ help you out with. What are we gonna do about this Oswald situation?"

"Exactly what I said I was gonna do. Task Juice with digging up something we can use." Jax smiled, the smirk stretching across his face. "Just not in the way Clay has in mind." He stood up. "C'mon. I think it's time for a drink."

Opening the Chapel doors, the two patches made their way to the bar to join the Friday night party already in full swing. Spotting Juice sitting at his security station in the far corner of the main room with Tandy, a buxom blonde sitting in his lap, Jax figured that he might as well fill the patch in on his newest assignment.

With any luck, the information uncovered by the Intel Officer would assist Jax with the plan already seeding in his mind to put SAMCRO back on the path that John Teller had intended.

* * *

_**Monday, July 19, 2010** _

If there was one thing Jax Teller knew for sure about himself it was that he was an okay mechanic.

Jax was competent enough and not at all bad, but he knew he had the ability to be better, more skilled. Growing up on the lot had afforded him the opportunity to learn from the best of the best, his own father included. But after patching in at nineteen, Jax had to immerse himself completely in learning the gun business that was the Club's true bread and butter. If things worked out according to his plan, however, Jax hoped to soon phase out guns as a means to earn, allowing him to focus his time and energy on the garage and improving his skills.

Jax knew himself better than to think he would ever be on par with the level of knowledge and expertise that Clay Morrow possessed. Neither could he hope to be half as good as Lowell Harlan Jr. who had practically learned the trade at Clay's knee. Nonetheless, Jax found a great deal of pleasure and pride in being able to do an honest day's work in the garage. After all, it was his name alongside Clay's on the business they co-owned and it was this business that would be the foundation of future endeavors that Jax planned to utilize in order to turn the Sons of Anarchy off of its decade-long wayward course.

 _Hopefully, one day soon, fixing cages and bikes will be_ _all_ _I need to do in order to earn a living and the only power tool I'll need in my hand can be found in one of the garage bays, not in a holster underneath my kutte_.

It was a future that Jax thought about on a daily basis and not just for himself and Abel, but for his brothers and their families as well. Sometimes working in the garage helped to keep the noise in his head at bay, especially when all he could think about was how the blood and violence wasn't just erroding the Club but his humanity as well. Knowing that he wasn't only doing it for himself by himself kept him on that path. So seeing his brother from another mother hauling ass onto the lot, Jax put down the wrench he had in his hand and made his way over to Opie.

As Jax drew closer, it was apparent from the tight expression on Opie's face that he was upset about something. Keeping his brother together was not just important because he needed Opie's support through what would probably be a long and harrowing transition from an outlaw MC to a legitimate business, it was the deep love and many years of friendship that pushed the SAMCRO Pres to find out what was weighing Opie down.

Without preamble, Jax asked quietly, "Something wrong, bro?" He watched as Opie got off his ride. Noting the backpack strapped to his shoulders, Jax winced slightly.

Instead of answering him directly, Opie motioned to Jax and headed for the picnic table in front of the Clubhouse, away from anyone milling about and within earshot.

Dropping his backpack on the table, Opie plopped himself down next to it, stretching his long legs over the bench as he looked at his brother. "Turns out that me staying at the Clubhouse wasn't the only thing preventing me from knocking up my old lady," Opie started bitterly. "Lyla's been on birth control this whole fuckin' time, even before we got hitched."

"Fuck," Jax murmured as he noted his brother's angry expression, but even more so the look of sorrow in his expressive dark green eyes. "I'm really sorry, bro. Are you sure?"

Opie ran a large hand over his loose dark auburn hair. "There's no fuckin' doubt about it, Jax. My clumsy ass knocked her purse off the counter while making coffee. All her shit spilled out, including her little blue case of pills," he groaned and half laughed. "You know, there's a lot of fuckin' Intel on those prescription labels. Like the fact that it was a 30-day supply with six months of refills issued earlier this year. This one was her last one. I confronted her about it and soon we were screaming at each other again when the kids came home from school. They got front row seats to me calling Lyla a whore," he finished miserably. "Ellie looked devastated she was so disappointed in me. I felt like shit. I had to get the fuck out of there before I really lost my shit and picked Lyla up to shake her like a rag doll. I packed some shit and bailed."

"I thought things were moving in the right direction after you went back home," Jax said reaching into his T-M work shirt and pulling out a pack of smokes. He offered one to Ope, lighting it before lighting his own.

Opie released a heavy sigh disguised by a long trail of smoke. "Nah. Apparently, staying at the Clubhouse for a couple of weeks was just a sad time out. 'Sides, with all the time I've been spending on the road to and from Vancouver and Lyla doing back-to-back porn epics, we've haven't exactly had time to talk shit out. To be honest, I don't think either of us was up to talking, afraid of rubbing each other the wrong way," he replied somewhat stoically. "I guess my old lady's no better than your ex. Ain't life a bitch?"

Jax sat down on the picnic bench and looked up at his brother. "Yeah, it is, but all that matters is what you make of it, brother."

"Really?" Opie smirked. "Could you be any more vague?"

"Ope, it's kinda what you told me about Marlowe. If I want to make what we could have happen, then I have to be the one to make it happen regardless of how she may feel about shit. I took a step in that direction by putting it out there that there's something between us. I'm sure that shit is already making the rounds, especially if Kozik's had the chance to download on Tigger."

"Oh, yeah," Opie laughed. "It is definitely making the rounds. It's hard to tell if Hap hasn't heard or if he's pretending not to have heard. Either way, nobody has the balls to bring it up around him. You know you're gonna have to handle that shit on your own, right?"

"No doubt and I will," Jax assured him. " _A_ _fter_ I get Marlowe to admit that we have something more than just the 'friends with benefits' plan. Right now, though, we're talking about you and Lyla. You know, it took me a minute to realize that Tara getting rid of our baby was her way of telling me that she wasn't cut out for this life. The over-achiever she has always been just couldn't admit that fact to herself, but she knew it at nineteen and I knew she regretted coming back every moment of everyday, even when we were together.

"Lyla's different. The fact that she was willing to wait fourteen months for us to get out of Stockton so she could marry your ugly mug tells me she's in it for the long haul. You had a lot of weight on your shoulders leading the Club while we were inside and she stuck by you. She's raising your kids, Ope, all while raising her own and working. She may be young and seems a little fragile, but she's a lot stronger than Tara ever was. There's just some shit a woman ain't gonna fight for and that's for the love of a man who is still in love with his late wife," Jax said gently. "Maybe Lyla's on birth control because as long as you're still emotionally tied to Donna, she can't trust that you love her. Until you can say goodbye to Donna, Lyla won't trust you with her heart, and as long as the trust ain't there, she's not gonna have your Sasquatch spawn or stop working in porn. Not only are you unhappy, bro, but if she's not willing to give up eating pussy, part of us moving the Club forward has just hit another speed bump."

"So what can I do about it, brother?" Opie said morosely.

"You do what I always do when I hit rock bottom and don't know where else to turn. I go and have a heart-to-heart with my old man," Jax said quietly before he stood up and stubbed his cigarette out with his foot. "You need to go talk to Donna, but this time when you do, for the sake of your marriage and your kids, you need to say goodbye," he said before turning away from his astonished brother and headed back to the garage.

* * *

_**Wednesday, July 21, 2010** _

Sitting cross-legged on the middle of her bed, Marlowe was lost in thought as she stared down at the official-looking contents of the large manila envelope spread out before her.

 _I must be out of my fuckin' mind,_ the Club medic chastised herself as she ran her hand through her still-damp hair. _What the fuck was I thinking_?

"You were thinking about the future, asshole," she muttered out loud. "The question is whether or not my future is here."

Reaching for the medium-sized wooden box sitting next to her, Marlowe placed it on her lap and ran her hand over the smooth and plain sandalwood. Anyone else might consider its contents worthless, but to Marlowe they were priceless. To her, they represented ten years of honorable service to her country. Slowly lifting the lid, Marlowe felt the corners of her mouth tug into a smile as her eyes fell on the various medals and ribbons that were pinned to the black suede lining. Along with the Afghanistan Campaign Medal and service ribbon with three small bronze stars representing one for each tour, Marlowe fingered the Expert Rifle and Expert Pistol Marksmanship Medals she had earned during recruit training. Although she had continued to qualify with her weapons every year as an expert sharpshooter, these first medals meant the most to her because she thought Happy would be proud if he knew she had qualified on her first try. On the next row were her Fleet Marine Force (FMF), Combat Operation, and Medical Service Corps Surface Warfare Insignias. Each had been hard-earned and she regarded each one as her most-prized possession, including the Hospital Corpsman gold ring she no longer wore.

Marlowe was proud of all that she had accomplished in the Navy. It had not been an easy ride and she was just grateful that, even after the Inquiry that had subsequently resulted in loss of rank and time in the Brig, she had not been stripped of her medals. Being forced to take temporary disability leave, putting her life and career in limbo, had been difficult enough. Losing what were basically symbols of ten years of growth and achievement would have been too much to bear.

Now, however, was time for Marlowe to face the reality of her situation. After almost three years on disability leave, it was unlikely that she would be recalled to active duty. With her career in the Navy essentially over, it was time to finally move on with her life. It was only a matter of time before she got the official word from the Department of Defense that the Navy was done with her. Accepting that had been her first step towards making a new future for herself.

Picking up the large and heavily embossed cream-colored certificate, Marlowe read it again for probably the 100th time.

**Certification of Emergency Medical Training**

After passing the California State Board Examination for  
Emergency Medical Training, this document certifies that

**Marlowe Monroe Guthrie**

is hereby qualified by the State of California to serve as an  
Emergency Medical Service Technician

Duly Authorized: July 19, 2010

Even as she held it in her hand, Marlowe still couldn't believe that getting the certification had been so fuckin' easy. With all of her previous training and experience, the hardest part of it all had been reaching out to Shane Matthews.

For days after running into the EMT at St. Thomas, Marlowe found herself plagued by the possibilities that the overeager man had planted in her head. Although Shane had copped to the fact that he would receive a bonus for the referral, he assured her that he would never recommend her if he didn't think she was capable. Marlowe didn't believe in coincidences, but even she had to admit that the timing of the offer could not have been more perfect. Just as she was starting to contemplate her future and whether or not she wanted to return to Bakersfield, not taking Shane up on his offer of a recommendation would have been stupid. Even then, she had taken the weekend to think it over before finally giving him a call.

Shane had been excited to hear from her and had set a meet at Hanna's in town so he could give her the details. Stockton Technical College offered an intense two-week course on emergency medical training. It required her to attend five hours a day of training, demonstrations and testing in order to qualify as a basic EMT. After completing the course, Marlowe would have to take a State Board exam for certification and licensing. With her experience, Shane was sure she would easily pass both the course and exam and would probably have a job offer in as little as a week after the test results came back.

The older man continued rambling on excitedly about his employer, the San Joaquin Ambulance Corps, who serviced all five towns in the county. In addition to a benefits package that included medical, dental, vacation and sick time, 401k and discounted child care in various day cares located around the County, the salary was more than decent. As a matter of fact, it was nearly $15,000 more than what she had made as an active-duty Corpsman.

After hearing all of this, it would have been crazy for Marlowe to turn him down. Even if she decided not to take a job and returned to Bakersfield, at least she would have the certification that would allow her to work as an EMT anywhere in the state. So, biting the bullet, Marlowe asked what she had to do and had made the man's day.

It hadn't been easy keeping her new routine of classes and labs in Stockton a secret, all the while hoping and praying that no Club emergencies occurred during her absence. Finding time to study was nearly impossible on the nights Jax spent with her at the Clubhouse. Luckily, she had been able to load all of the course materials on her iPad, which enabled her to study whenever she had a free moment.

"All for this," she muttered looking at the certificate. With the seemingly hard stuff now under her belt, Marlowe had a choice to make. She could return to Bakersfield with Amelia and Ceci or she could stay in Charming with Jax, Happy, and the Club. Either way, she could find work doing what she loved the most, which was helping people.

With time on the clock running out before Amelia departed Charming for home, Marlowe knew that she needed to figure shit out and soon.


	37. Chapter 37

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sons of Anarchy. I do, however, own Marlowe and any other OCs that appear in the 2 Sons Universe.**

* * *

_**Friday, July 23, 2010** _

The Teller-Morrow lot was the center of the SOA universe, and this was a fact that had become quite clear to Marlowe during the early days of her stay in Charming. Anything and everything that had to do with the Club happened on what some referred to as the "Compound" and as far as she was concerned, there never seemed to be a lack of interesting shit going on. Whether it was dealing with issues regarding the Club's illegal gun business or the general ups and downs of life in an outlaw MC that actually functioned more like a very _dysfunctional_ family, there was _always_ something going on.

Usually hovering around the periphery of any activity, on this particular day, Marlowe would find herself front and center of a shit storm that was personal in nature, but which involved one Club member in particular.

It was a typically busy Friday for the garage, with mechanics and Chucky expediting service for clients as Gemma kept an eagle-eye on everything and everyone. On Fridays, more so than on any other day of the week, there were a significant number of hang-arounds milling about in anticipation of after-Church festivities once the sun went down. Having showered and dressed after her normal morning workout routine, Marlowe was sitting at one of the tables across from the bar sipping on a large mug of coffee and scarfing down one of Bobby's ginormous blueberry muffins. After being dragged around a three-story mall in Modesto the day before, Marlowe felt the need to indulge herself. With Jax busy and MIA, stuffing her mouth with an organic muffin instead would have to do.

It had been years since the last time Marlowe had gone clothes shopping with Amelia and Ceci and, after a morning in fashionista hell, now she remembered why. Being nagged and browbeaten into submission by the notorious Cuban tag team "Las Hermanas Lopez" would certainly never find itself on Marlowe's Bucket List, but even she had to admit that they had a point when it came to her severely-lacking and way-too-casual wardrobe.

"Chica, there's no way in hell anyone will hire you if you walk into your interview wearing a t-shirt and jeans, your Navy uniform or some nasty camouflage monstrosity. Not even if you were looking for a job driving a garbage truck," Ceci chided as Marlowe stood in the midst of several clothing racks with a one thousand yard stare on her face.

"You know I hate shopping with Ceci," Amelia started as she rifled through a rack looking for Marlowe's size, "but she _does_ have a point."

Ceci stopped what she was doing on the other side of the rack and placed a hand on an indignantly cocked hip. "Ave Maria, Mellie, you make it sound like that _never_ happens."

"Well, you do like sticking your nose where no one was looking for it in the first place, hermanita," Amelia responded as she pulled a sophisticated little black dress with a mock turtle neck and cap sleeves from the rack. "The point _I_ was trying to make, however, is that if Marley is going to do this shit, then she needs to do it right," she said while draping the dress over Marlowe's front.

"Put that back!" Marlowe ordered, suddenly springing to life as Amelia gave her a look like she had just sprouted a third eye. "Tía," she started again in a less stressed-out tone. "I don't have to wear a dress. I'm not interviewing for an office job. Dark colored slacks and a simple button down will do just fine."

Just fine for what, Marlowe had no clue. She wasn't even sure she wanted the job in the first place. After all, she was still getting over the shock of hearing back so quickly from the Sanwa Ambulance Service Corps. Obviously, Shane had not been exaggerating when he said that they had been looking for someone with her qualifications for a long time. The Human Resources Director had called her personally to offer an interview, candidly acknowledging that she had been afraid that some other service would snatch Marlowe up first. If she were honest with herself, the former Corpsman would admit just how flattering it had been to hear that during her first foray into seeking employment in the civilian world.

Unfortunately, Marlowe had opened her giant pie hole and mentioned having to cut short her visit with Amelia at the Center for an interview that afternoon. Ceci had been the one to take the stubborn bull by the horns, insisting that she needed the right outfit for the interview. "This will be good practice for you for when you start looking for a job in Bakersfield."

As Amelia and Ceci started chattering away about what stores they should hit first, Marlowe didn't have the heart to mention the fact that the outcome of this "dress rehearsal" might not be what they were expecting. Instead, she let the strong-minded Latinas take the lead on their shopping excursion. However, Marlowe wasn't about to let them pressure her into wearing a dress! That was her fuckin' line in the sand. She had one dress to her name and that was more than enough for her.

Begrudgingly, both Amelia and Ceci complied, finding her a nicely-tailored designer pant suit and paired it with a simple yet beautiful white silk shirt and a pair of basic black heels that added another three inches to her already-impressive 5'10 frame.

Returning to Ceci's hotel room near the Wellness Center, Marlowe had changed into her new attire and slapped on some light make up while Amelia pinned her hair up into a neat chignon.

Closing the clasp on a pair small gold hoop earrings, Ceci turned to her sister. "Nice, huh?"

Amelia nodded. "Who knew she cleaned up so well?"

"I feel like a phony in this monkey suit," Marlowe muttered as she examined herself in the full-length mirror, refusing to admit that she actually did look quite decent.

"Tell me you are not comparing a Michael Kors to a monkey suit? Who made your Navy uniforms, chola, Armani?" Ceci admonished sarcastically. "You look like a woman who is out to get herself a job. Now go get it."

Thanks to the impromptu make-over party, Marlowe had to gun the Impala all the way to Stockton in order to get to the interview on time. In spite of running the risk of encountering a speed trap on the way, she had been pleasantly surprised by how well the interview had gone. The Director of Human Resources had been impressed with not only her perfect score on the state exam, but with Marlowe's extensive military experience as well as with her wide range of medical knowledge.

Now it was all a matter of waiting it out. Although Marlowe had been given the impression that she was at the top of their candidate list, she was told by the Director that there were several other applicants left to be seen before a decision was made. The HR Director did have Marlowe sign a consent form in order to start the process of a background check as well as a verification of employment process. After all the standard checks came back clear, all she would have to do was take a thorough medical exam as well as drug test, that is _if_ she was offered the job. Marlowe had left the corporate offices of the San Joaquin Ambulance Service Corps that afternoon confident that seeing other candidates was just a technicality and that the job was hers.

Still, Marlowe refused to acknowledge that submitting herself to the entire process meant that she had already made up her mind to stay in Charming, or that she even wanted to.

 _I'm not obligated to take the job if they offer it_ , Marlowe reasoned with herself as she continued to sip her coffee. _Ceci's right. Going through the whole process is a good way of getting familiar with what I can expect on interviews back home._

 _But, Doc, Charming_ _is_ _your home_ , her inner voice gently chided her. And to her surprise, that voice sounded a lot like Jax Teller's.

* * *

Finishing her breakfast, Marlowe got up from the table and took her dirty dishes into the kitchen to wash before heading out. Drying her mug and plate after washing, she decided to put them away, along with the other dishes in the dish drainer. Opening a cabinet, Marlowe stopped and turned her head as she heard loud clomping footfalls coming down the corridor and spotted a biker heading her way.

"Hey, Tigger," Marlowe said as she turned completely around to lean against the counter. "Where's the fire?" she asked as she noted the man's harried expression.

"Hey, Doc," he replied absently. "Running _real_ late today of all days when I got an important errand to run for the Club."

Knowing better than to ask what that errand might be, Marlowe went back to organizing the cabinets. "Well, that's what you get for spending the night plowing more than one Club groupie at a time. Ever consider that you might be getting too old for that shit, old man?" she teased over her shoulder.

"Never, doll. You'd know for yourself just what this well-oiled _vintage_ machine is capable of if you just let me give you a ride." Tig offered, wriggling his eyebrows lasciviously.

"You still working on getting into my pants?" she laughed as she shut a cabinet and opened another. "I thought you had given up on pursuing the impossible," she teased.

"Hey, quitters never win, baby cakes. 'Sides, I figure that eventually, _one_ of these days you're gonna see the error of your ways and let me slip ya the full ten inches," he said with a sigh as he wistfully stared at her pert ass.

 _Jesus Christ! Are huge cocks a pre-requisite to being a biker?_ Marlowe thought with a grin as Jax sprung to mind. _If so, hallelujah!_

"It's a good thing to keep hope alive, Tiggy," Marlowe said sincerely as she continued rifling through the cabinets. "Just keep your hopes off of Hap's radar, okay? I'd hate for that Neanderthal to rearrange your face for ya. I kinda like it the way it is."

"Eh, who knows, maybe if I was higher up on the food chain like Jax," Tig started, the gleefully evil smirk on his face unseen by Marlowe. "I'd get a pass from Hap too—"

Suddenly forgetting what she was doing, Marlowe almost dropped the plate in her hand as she spun around to face Tig. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" She glared at him.

Tig held up both of his multi-ringed hands. "Nothing, Doc, nothing at all. Sometimes, I don't know what the fuck I'm saying. Maybe I got Tourette's or something," he said with innocently wide yet crazy-looking eyes. "Anyways, I'm running late and don't even have time for a jolt of caffeine." Tig watched as Marlowe rolled her eyes.

"Hold on a sec, I think I saw some disposable cups and lids in here," she said, finally finding the right cabinet. "I'll make you a cup to go."

"You're a lifesaver, Doc," Tig grinned as he watched her pour rich coffee into a Styrofoam cup and handed it to him. Quickly gulping down a couple of sips, he winced as he seared his tongue. "Shit! This fucker's boiling."

"Oh, did I forget to mention that?" She grinned. "So where are you off to?"

"Gotta make a run to Oakland," he replied nonchalantly. Jimmy Cacuzza was looking to the Club to fill an unexpected order of Glocks for one of the families in Reno and Jax had tapped him to make the delivery. "I better bounce," he said as he headed towards the door and stopped. "Chicken fucker!" he growled as he deliberately banged his head against the doorjamb.

"You still need reminding that the coffee's hot?" Marlowe asked bewildered.

"Nah," Tig turned to face Marlowe. "Kozy's been nagging me like my ex-gash to bring him some shit from his dorm, but I keep forgetting. I was supposed to drop it off before heading out today but I over-fuckin-slept."

"No worries. I'm heading over there now, so I can take it. What does he need?" Marlowe offered.

"Really, Doc? You'd be doing me a solid," he said gratefully before quickly running down the list of Kozik's requested items. Tossing her a set of keys, Tig shouted his thanks and headed towards the Clubhouse exit.

* * *

Making her way to Kozik's dorm, Marlowe shook her head as she thought about Tig and his off-handed comments. In spite of what he said about knowing nothing, she knew better than to think that Tig was the only one aware of her relationship with the SAMCRO President. After his alpha male hissy fit of jealously in the Clubhouse over Kozik, Jax had deliberately gone out of his way to brand her in front of the injured patch with an intimate kiss. It would come as no surprise to her if she learned that the Gossip Girls had compared notes with each other, coming to the totally reasonable conclusion that she was indeed polishing Jax's knob on the regular.

What did surprise her, however, had been Tig's implication that Happy knew about her and Jax and had given the SAMCRO Pres a pass.

 _A pass? What the fuck does that even mean?_ Marlowe thought a little disgruntled. As if she would even let her brother entertain the notion that he had a say in her love life. But then again, who knew what secret deals sealed by secret handshakes were being made between Club brothers behind her back.

As far as Marlowe knew, the only thing Hap had been aware of was their little tango in the sheets on the night Jax discovered the truth about Tara's "miscarriage". Living in the same Clubhouse, brother and sister interacted every day and so far Hap had not deigned himself by bringing it up again, which Marlowe had been more than grateful for. But just because she hadn't noticed anything off in his attitude towards her or Jax didn't mean that he hadn't been clued in about her little "ongoing arrangement" with the SAMCRO Pres. She knew enough about her brother to know that he wouldn't be thrilled about it. It was just another way Happy was so much like his mother Amelia. Either be it breast cancer or the fact that Marlowe was heartily enjoying an active sex life with Jax Teller, if they didn't acknowledge it, it wasn't happening.

"Fuck my life!" Marlowe growled to herself as she approached Kozik's door. The only way to know for sure would be by approaching Happy about her relationship with Jax. However, she had learned plenty about self-preservation in the Navy and was not about to poke a pissy-to-begin-with bear by asking.

Instead, Marlowe decided to focus on the task at hand, which was retrieving several personal care products from Kozik's room at the far end of the hallway between the Club's gym and the public bathroom. Using the keys Tig had provided, she unlocked the door and let herself in.

After being taken to St. Thomas for treatment of his injuries, Kozik's dorm had been thoroughly cleaned by a couple of Prospects. It was definitely bigger than her own and not only had a bathroom, but a nice sized window as well. It certainly had more character than either hers or Happy's dorms, both of which were pretty Spartan, true to the nature of its occupants. The walls were decorated with SAMCRO memorabilia, including framed photographs of Kozik's early days with SAMCRO and during his time as SAA with the Tacoma charter, as well as several naked centerfolds on Harleys for the prerequisite sleaze factor. A small flat screen TV was mounted on the wall opposite the neatly-made bed. On the other side of the room, against the wall next to the bathroom, stood a lone chest of drawers covered with a collection of souvenir shot glasses from around the world, two unopened cartons of cigarettes, an opened (and nearly empty) box condoms and a loaded hand gun.

"Yep. Once a Marine, always a Marine," Marlowe murmured under her breath as she eyed the room thoroughly.

Suddenly narrowing her eyes curiously, she crossed the room over to the desk that was tucked away in the corner and noted the government-issued footlocker resting on top. Running her hand over the smooth, cool khaki green-colored metal, she was tempted to take a peek inside but stopped herself out of respect for her friend. Instead, she turned around and headed to the bathroom where she found a small black bag sitting on the sink. Opening it, she nodded to herself as she eyed the contents of what was Kozik's shaving kit.

"Poor man's losing his mojo with the ladies the more he starts to resemble a hermit," Marlowe smiled to herself as she opened the medicine cabinet and retrieved a can of shaving cream and a bottle of aftershave, stuffing both into the bag before zipping it shut. "After over a month without some 'tang, he might be able to score some head by prettying himself up some."

Closing the bathroom door behind her, Marlowe was about to head out of the room when her memory kicked in. Stopping with a snap of her fingers, she headed to the night stand by the bed. Tig had said that's where she would find the books Kozik had asked for. Pulling open the top drawer, all Marlowe saw was an eclectic assortment of CDs and at least five unopened boxes of condoms.

"Damn, Kozy! Now I know who to turn to when my own little stash is gone," Marlowe grinned as she closed the drawer and opened the second and much deeper one. The obvious "junk drawer" was packed with skin mags, several packs of playing cards, poker chips, a flash light, batteries, a CD player, and a couple of bundles of pictures. Pulling numerous items from the drawer and placing them on the bed, Marlowe continued rifling through the drawer until she hit pay dirt and found the requested books. Deciding that she would need to organize the drawer in a manner that would allow her to close it again, she tossed the books on the bed. The bouncing hardcovers caused several items already precariously resting on the edge of the bed to fall onto the floor.

"Shit!" she groused as the box of poker chips opened on impact, scattering small, multi-colored plastic disks representing different denominations to and fro.

Crouching onto her haunches, Marlowe started gathering up the mess she had made while mumbling to herself about no good deed going unpunished. Looking under the bed for any wayward poker chips, she sighed with frustration, noting that one of the bundles of photos had come undone thanks to a fraying rubber band. Hoping that Kozik didn't have them organized into any particular order, she shuffled them together into a neat stack. Flipping the stack over, she nearly burst out laughing as her eyes centered on a picture of an obviously young Herman Kozik standing next to an equally young looking Tig.

Noting how skinny and gangly they were back then, Marlowe chuckled to herself. "They look like two pool cues with eyes and ugly buzz cuts," she said as she closely examined the picture.

Gathering the rest from the floor, Marlowe flipped through them and realized they were all from Kozik's early life as a Marine. They all appeared to have been taken at least 25 or 30 years ago, judging by the handwritten dates and names on the back of a few of them. Seeing Kozik and Tig with a number of other Marines all outfitted in their uniforms either working in the car pool, during rec time or sightseeing in foreign cities brought back memories of her own time in the Navy. She knew she shouldn't be perusing though Kozik's memories without his knowledge or permission, but not all of her memories of her time in service to her country were bad and she found herself smiling as she flipped through the photos.

Later, Marlowe would recall the familiar, cold trickle of anxiety that had started at the back of her neck and crawled its way down her back as she glanced at one picture in particular. Her eyes were instantly drawn to the woman sitting on Kozik's lap holding an upright pool cue between her legs as he intimately nuzzled her neck.

Suddenly feeling lightheaded as her entire world spun on its axis, her lower limbs gave way and she slumped onto the floor like a sack of wet laundry. With her heart trying to pound its way out of her chest, Marlowe absent-mindedly dropped the photos, causing them to scatter about once again. Desperately clutching her head with her hands, somewhere in the back of her time-traveling mind it registered that not all triggers that could provoke a PTSD episode had to be war-related.

"Shannon, please don't leave me alone with him," Marlowe whimpered in a small voice, convinced she was the lost nine year old that had fallen prey to her pedophile neighbor. "Please, Mommy, don't leave me."

Falling onto her side on the floor, Marlowe curled herself up into a ball. Crying, she hugged her knees to her chest, closed her eyes tight and waited for the boogeyman to come for her. Again.

* * *

Kozik was whistling cheerfully as wheeled himself into his room. It wasn't his Harley, but for the next few months popping wheelies in his wheelchair would be the closest he would come to feeling the wind rip through his hair. Coming to a stop by his bed, he carefully lowered the foot rest and the extended leg rest that supported his injured limb and slowly attempted to pull himself out of the chair.

"Mr. Kozik, please! Let me help you with that," a young and slightly breathless voice called out, prompting him to turn his head to take in the pretty brunette nurse hurrying to his aid.

"I'm fine, darlin', but please, it's just Koz," he said with a wink and watched as the nurse's face flushed delicately.

 _You should be ashamed of yourself flirting with this girl. She looks like she's barely outta high school_ , the biker thought, but mentally shrugged his shoulders. After working his ass off in the gym for the past two hours, he could use a little distraction of the female kind.

Since his arrival at the Wellness Center, Kozik had made it a point to continue with his regular workout routine. Consisting mostly of weight-training, it was a program he could maintain even while stuck in a wheelchair. In addition, he had recently started his twice-a-day 30-minute sessions of physical therapy. With the aid of his therapist Rhonda, a very attractive, middle-aged redhead, he was working on making his leg strong again.

Although he had been warned that it would be a slow yet steady process, the outlaw found himself frustrated by his progress and at times was hard-pressed to remain positive and optimistic. When that happened and he started barking at those trying to help him get better, Kozik had to stop and remind himself just how lucky he had been. The outcome could have been drastically different and he could have ended up like Greg the Peg, a Nomad out of New York who had lost a leg in Afghanistan.

Nonetheless, therapy was hard and painful and Kozik had yet to see any real improvement. Because of that, he was finding it difficult to maintain a mask of indifference during his sessions, especially when he was jolted by sharp twinges of pain, followed by bouts of shame over his inability to make his leg do what he wanted it to. Refusing to let his therapist Rhonda see him get downright depressed by feelings of uselessness and defeat, Kozik spent a great deal of time flirting with her and, he noticed, she had no problem flirting with him right back. It felt good to have something else to focus on besides his healing body and his past.

It had been almost three weeks since Happy's mother had dropped the anvil on him about Shannon and the biker was still at a loss about what to do. Clay had recently stopped by to let him know that he hadn't yet been able to make a connection, so Kozik asked him to hold back from investigating any further, not letting him know what he had been able to discover on his own. Learning that Doc's mother and his former lover were the same woman had spun him out, but not as much as the realization that the odds were in favor of him being Marlowe's biological father. Kozik felt that he needed more time to come to terms with that possibility before sharing the information, especially with Marlowe.

His own inability to deal with the consequences of the choices he had made in the past, however, didn't stop time from moving forward and soon Marlowe would be heading back to Bakersfield. Kozik knew he had to man up and soon. Not only did he owe it to Shannon and Marlowe, but as part of his ongoing recovery, Kozik owed it to himself to right the wrongs he had committed in the past while under the influence of drugs.

Finally settled into his bed with the help of the pretty, young nurse named Leah, Kozik ran his hand over his face and runaway beard. He couldn't wait to get rid of the shit, but noting that it was past lunchtime, Kozik was sure he wouldn't be seeing Tig or his shaving kit any time soon.

 _Tiggy probably forgot all about it with his run to_ _Oakland_ _on tap today_ , he thought.

Having asked the fresh faced nurse to bring him a pitcher of ice water, she had just returned when SAMCRO's medic stormed in right behind her. Afterward, Kozik thought it probably would have been better to grow his beard down to his testicles. Anything would have been preferable to being blindsided by a truly and righteously angry Marlowe Guthrie.

* * *

Marlowe had awoken to find herself in a fetal position she didn't remember crawling into and in a pool of vomit consisting of her half-digested breakfast. Sitting up abruptly and looking around the room, the reason why she found herself in such a state came rushing back, slamming into her like a runaway freight train.

_Shannon._

Quickly getting up, Marlowe cleaned up her mess on the floor with hot water and bleach before reorganizing Kozik's belongings back into his drawer. Or at least that was what she vaguely remembered doing as she found herself standing in the shower under a hot cascade of water, once again with no memory as to how she got there or how long she had been there. Her head was pounding with the kind of headache only intense and hysterical tears could cause. It was slowly coming back to her and Marlowe had to fight down the bile that rose in her throat. As flashes of the man who had molested her as a child flickered in her mind's eye, Marlowe grabbed a washcloth and a bar of soap and viciously scrubbed her skin until it was red, raw and sensitive to even the air surrounding her.

It was only when Marlowe finally stepped out of the shower, once the water started running cold, did she realize that five hours had passed that she couldn't fully account for.

Drying off and redressing herself in fresh clothes, Marlowe picked up her cell phone that she must have tossed on her bed, its blue light flashing, indicating missed calls, voice-mails and/or text messages. Flipping it open, she saw several missed calls from Amelia, Ceci, and Jax. The text from Jax said he was thinking about her and that he would try calling again later. He probably thought she was visiting with Amelia, which was where she would have been had the earth not given way underneath her feet.

Suddenly looking up, Marlowe found that she was standing in the doorway of Kozik's room.

"Hey, Doc," Kozik began sociably, but trailed off as he took in her confused, but heated expression.

"You need to leave," Marlowe growled at the nurse who stood glued to the spot as she noted the young woman's tight expression and combative stance.

Leah—a brand spanking new nurse at the facility—looked from her patient to his obviously angry visitor and back, at a loss of what to do. With this being only her first week on the job, the last thing she wanted was to fuck up.

"Umm," she started hesitatingly, "I don't think that's a good idea—"

"I didn't ask you to _think_. I told you to _leave_ ," Marlowe said with the kind of military authority that expected instant obedience. "And I won't _tell_ you again."

"Hey! What's with the attitude, Doc?" Kozik asked perturbed before turning to address the nurse. "Look, I'll be fine. You can go," he assured Leah.

Watching as the nurse scurried out the door, barely making eye contact with Marlowe, the door closed sharply behind her. A palpable silence descended on the small room and Kozik could literally feel the walls close in on him as he looked into the bitter eyes of the woman in front of him.

 _Ah shit, she knows_ , Kozik thought as he felt his heart sink. With pressure building up in his chest, he was astonished to realize that he had been holding his breath. Exhaling loudly, he watched as Marlowe marched towards him. Tossing her backpack at the foot of his bed, she unzipped it and, reaching inside, pulled out a handful of photos which she tossed into his lap.

"You want to tell me who the fuck that is, asshole?!" she demanded.

Reaching out, Kozik picked up one of the photos and winced as a younger version of himself smiled back at him as he held a gorgeous woman on his lap, her tight and clingy dress riding up her bare thighs.

"Marley," he started quietly only to be cut off.

"WHO THE FUCK IS THAT?!" she shouted, her voice echoing loudly in the small room.

Kozik felt his lips tighten as he looked into her eyes before he replied. "You know who that is. That's Shannon Guthrie." Kozik watched as Marlowe took a step back, almost as if she had been rocked on her heels after being punched in the face.

"Well, shit, that's a fuckin' coincidence," she said evenly. "Because my bitch of a mother had the exact same name, and here's the kicker, she looked just like the bitch in that photo, too," she replied, the accusation in her voice causing her voice to tremble.

"I know," Kozik said gently.

"You know?! How long have you known and why am I just finding out about this now?" Marlowe asked, trying to keep her voice just this side of hysterical. "I thought we were friends, damn it!"

Kozik could see her trembling now almost as if she had palsy and ran his own shaky hand through his hair. He was a patched member for nearly thirty years and yet, at that moment, he wished that he was anywhere but there being stared down by a fierce young warrior who wanted answers and wanted them yesterday.

"Not long, about a month, maybe a little longer," he replied as he watched her eyes widen in shock. Quickly he tossed a question at her. "How the fuck did you end up with these pictures? I assume you got those from my dorm." He watched as Marlowe dug into her backpack again and tossed several items in his lap.

"I thought I was doing both you and Tig a favor since the smarter half of Dumb and Dumber had a run to make this morning. Anyone else know? Happy? Tig?" she asked as she started to pace back and forth in front of Kozik's bed. "Who the fuck am I kidding? Of course Tig _knows_."

Kozik cleared his throat. "No, he doesn't. Neither does Hap."

"So you're the only liar I'm dealing with? That's good to know."

"What the fuck?" he retorted, his sudden anger overwhelming his feelings of guilt and remorse. "I never lied to you."

"You knew something that needed sharing, but kept it to yourself. I don't know about you, but where I come from that's lying by omission," she shot back. "You know what, I don't have time for you or your bullshit excuses. I'm leaving."

"No, don't leave," Kozik said urgently. "We need to talk, Doc."

"Fuck you!" Marlowe spit out as she headed for the door.

"I said NO!" he suddenly roared. "Now get back here and sit the fuck down before I get out of this bed and put your ass in that chair."

Suddenly the door opened and a large orderly was standing in the doorway. "Is there a problem?" he said as he eyed the two seething individuals in the room.

Ten seconds passed before Marlowe finally spoke. "There's no problem here," she said tightly.

"Well, the nurses outside seem to think otherwise. Do I need to escort you out?"

"Nah, Benny," Kozik said. "There's no need. We're good here." The orderly nodded and then quietly closed the door behind him. Kozik inhaled and exhaled loudly. "Sit down," he said again and seeing Marlowe's glare, added "please."

Allowing her shoulders to finally relax, Marlowe grabbed the chair next to the bed and turning it, straddled it to eye him. It was obvious that she was letting him have the floor and it took him a moment to gather his thoughts.

"You got something to say," Marlowe started through gritted teeth. "You better start talking because you only get one chance."

* * *

"I didn't lie to you, Marley," Kozik started after a long, uncomfortable silence. "Shit just got real complicated real fast after it dawned on me that I may have known your mother once."

Although Marlowe was willing to concede that Kozik had been through hell and back in recent weeks, he had plenty of opportunities to come clean since stabilizing in St. Thomas and his transfer to rehab. She was about to call him out on it when Kozik continued.

"When I first found out about the connection, I was spun out a bit. I needed to figure some shit out first and I figured this ain't some shit you just drop on someone when you don't have all the facts," he said.

"What facts?" Marlowe asked brusquely. "You knew my mother once. Trust me, that doesn't make you special or unique, but considering our already existing connection," she said, referring to Happy, "you didn't think I had the right to know?"

"I did, Marley," Kozik replied. "But it's a little more complicated than that. I was in a relationship with Shannon."

Marlowe chuckled bitterly. "I kind of gathered that from all the pictures I saw, including the ones I wish I could unsee," she said sarcastically.

"You weren't meant to see those, Doc. If I had wanted you to find out that way, I would've have asked you to bring me my shaving kit and other shit _Tig_ was supposed to," Kozik explained. "Believe me or not, I wanted to be the one to tell you. I never meant to hit you sideways with this. You believe me, don't you?"

Marlowe looked at Kozik, whose crystal blue eyes shone with sincerity. She wanted to believe her friend. She _did_ believe him. Like she had said, being with Shannon Guthrie didn't make him special in any way. Shannon loved men and loved having sex. This was something Marlowe had been keenly aware of since a very young age. If she could be honest with Kozik about the whole situation, the realization that he had known Shannon and had a "relationship" with her hadn't been what had shaken her to the core. It was seeing photos of the woman she had done her best to forget over the years. A woman whose face brought to the forefront of her mind memories she had done her best to repress.

The face of the mother that should have protected her, but didn't.

Marlowe sighed in resignation and then nodded. None of what happened to her had been Kozik's fault. "Yeah, I do believe you," she said tiredly. "I guess seeing her face in the most unexpected of places freaked me out a bit. Seems the world's a lot smaller than we originally thought, huh?"

"Tell me about it," Kozik smiled weakly. "But Marley, there's some more shit you need to know."

Marlowe moaned and shook her head. "Koz, I think I've heard enough shit for one day. So you knew my mother back in the day and judging by some of those pictures, I know you banged her. Honestly, that knowledge doesn't have my thong in a twist. Shannon got around. It's simply who she was and I'm kind of grateful she did because otherwise I never would have met Happy or Amelia and they changed my life for the better," she said quietly.

"I'm guessing life with Shannon wasn't the best, huh?" Kozik murmured, feelings of guilt overwhelming him.

"It was downright shitty," she replied honestly. "The best day of my life was the day Hap entered it."

Kozik knew he was about to tread on some shaky ground, but took the first hesitant step anyway. "So what about your father?"

"What about him?" Marlowe shrugged her shoulders. "I never met my father and Shannon never mentioned him when she was sober. I don't even know what's true and what's not when she did talk about him."

"She didn't tell you who he was?" Kozik asked numbly.

"No, just that he was from San Diego and used to be a Marine," Marlowe laughed bitterly. "That narrows it down to what, a few hundred thousand men?" she said, suddenly noting Kozik's tense shoulders. "What is it? Why do you look like you're about to fuckin' hurl?" she whispered. When her glittering gray eyes locked with Kozik's, she saw the truth reflected there. "Bullshit!" she exclaimed loudly, shaking her head violently as she shoved herself out of the chair. "It's not possible. Shannon was a whore!" she said angrily.

"But Marley, it is possible," he said softly, holding out his hand to her. "Come here." For several moments, Marlowe simply stared at the outstretched hand. "You're not gonna leave me hanging, are ya, Doc?" Kozik's quiet plea penetrated her overloaded mind, loosening her combat-booted feet welded to the slick hardwood surface of the floor. Slowly, she made her way to his bed side.

Taking her hand in his, Kozik found that his mouth and lips were dry. With his other hand, he gently patted the empty space next to him on the bed and watched as she sat down to face him. Clearing his throat, he croaked, "When were you born?" He watched as she gnawed on her lips for several long moments before she found her voice again.

"October 20, 1981," she finally responded and watched as the color faded from Kozik's cheeks.

"Well, damn, ain't that a kick in the pants," he managed to say as he squeezed Marlowe's hand in his.

Marlowe swallowed the large lump in her throat. She could feel the pulse in her neck beating rapidly. "So what's the verdict?" She watched as Kozik lifted her hand to kiss her knuckles gently before covering her hand with both of his.

"I think I may be your father."


	38. Chapter 38

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sons of Anarchy. I do, however, own Marlowe and any other OCs that appear in the 2 Sons Universe.**

* * *

_**Friday, July 23, 2010** _

_"I think I may be your father."_

For a moment Marlowe couldn't think. She couldn't even breathe as Kozik's declaration bounced around her brain. It was one thing to realize just how great the chances were of crossing paths with one of her mother's many dalliances. It was an entirely different matter to accept the possibility of one of them being her sperm donor, but it was a mind fuck of epic proportions if that man turned out to be someone close to her brother Happy, not to mention someone she considered a good friend.

"Are you sure?" Marlowe finally asked.

"Not really," Kozik replied with a shake of his head. "But the dates seem to match up. I first met Shannon in 1978. We were together for about two years before shit went south for us. We split up sometime at the end of 1980, beginning of '81."

 _Just keep asking him questions_ , Marlowe thought a little wildly. _Give your mind a chance to settle and come to grips with this_.

"So how did you meet?" Marlowe watched as Kozik picked up one of the photos on his lap and briefly looked at it before handing it to her. Taking picture, she noted Shannon and Kozik sitting at a cozy table for two in what appeared to be a pretty flashy bar.

"I picked her up at a local watering hole that catered to the military personnel in the area. Your mom and I hit it off pretty quickly."

"So she worked at the bar?" Marlowe guessed and was surprised when Kozik shook his head.

"No, but she was a regular. She partied there practically every night, in spite of holding down a day job at some law firm. I think she worked in the secretarial pool, if I remember correctly." Kozik watched as Marlowe's eyebrows shot up into her hairline in surprise.

"You've got to be kidding me. Shannon? A legit secretary?" she asked, her disbelief clearly evident. "And here I thought she had been born hugging a stripper pole."

"Huh?" Kozik cocked his head inquiringly. "Shannon was a stripper?" Somehow, he had hoped that Amelia had been wrong about that.

 _Shit, that fall from grace is probably my fault too_ , Kozik thought grimly.

"Not just a _stripper_. She was a headliner for years at some joint—Nasty Boots, I think—in Bakersfield. Even made some 'guest appearances' at some top-shelf clubs in Reno and Las Vegas. As far as I knew, stripping was the only job she ever held steady. Can't really picture _Cinnamon Swallows_ as an office grunt," Marlowe laughed ironically. "Sometimes, she'd take me to work with her, even though it wasn't exactly the kind of 'Take Your Daughter to Work Day' experience I ever wanted to share at school."

Kozik found himself at a loss of what to say. The last thing he wanted to do right now was focus on the fact that the young girl he may have fathered had grown up in a dirty strip joint. Instead, he tuned in to what Marlowe was saying once again.

"So you never knew she had a kid after being with you?" Marlowe asked cautiously. "Or did you?"

"Nah, Marley, I swear," he replied adamantly as he shook his head. "If I had known she was knocked up and that chances were the baby was mine, I never would have split. Truth is, by the time we called it quits, I was already out of the Marines and had taken some time away while I pulled my shit together. Our relationship was never the same after I sobered up. Then Tig invited me up to Charming for a visit and I ended up prospecting with SAMCRO. I lost contact with Shannon after that and never saw her again."

Kozik took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. He realized that it was time to just stop fucking around and tell Marlowe the whole truth.

"You remember me telling you how my addiction ended my career with the Marines, right?" Kozik asked.

Marlowe nodded. "Yeah, you said it got pretty bad for you and that you were lucky to end up with a medical discharge."

"Yeah, well, what I didn't tell you was that mine's wasn't the only life I fucked up with heroin," he said quietly. "I dragged Shannon down with me too." As Marlowe's delicate features twitched in confusion, Kozik decided to bite the bullet.

Anxious to get it all out before the young woman had a chance to open her mouth and cut him off at the knees, Kozik launched into the details of his drug-fueled life with Shannon Guthrie. The constant partying and good times eventually gave way to too many failed piss tests and reprimands in his jacket for showing up for duty "impaired." His commanding officer tried getting him the help he needed to straighten out, but he eventually ended up burning that bridge as well and was booted out of the Marines. No job meant no money coming in and soon he and Shannon hit rock bottom when a moment of clarity sent him running to rehab.

"I knew that it was either get clean or die," Kozik explained. "With my brother Lew's help, I managed it and I tried to right the wrong I did by getting her to clean up too, but Shannon wanted no part of it. She swore she was fine and the only way her life could get any better was if I left. She kicked me out and wanted nothing to do with me. After weeks of trying, I gave up. I left and never looked back. I loved her, Marley. I really did," he swore sincerely. "It broke me to leave, but it would've killed me to stay. I was newly-recovered and I couldn't afford to relapse."

Marlowe nodded with understanding and was about to speak up when Kozik suddenly continued in a heated rush. "Part of the reason I hesitated telling you about knowing Shannon was because I didn't want you to hate me, even though you have every right to. I was the one that introduced your mother to H. It's my fault that she gave you such a shitty life and that Hap and his family ended up raising you, and it's my fault that she died a junky."

"Who told you she died a junky?" Marlowe asked curiously, which confused Kozik because she seemed neither angry nor upset by his confession.

"I tracked down her obituary using the Internet," Kozik replied. "I mean, it didn't go into any detail and didn't mention that she had a daughter, but I do know she was 45 when she passed." He sighed. "How can I _not_ be responsible for that too? I'm so sorry, Marley. I really am."

For a while the two of them sat quietly together as Marlowe processed everything she had learned about her mother and Kozik wondering how she should respond. Looking into his pain-filled eyes as she took his fervent apology to heart, she knew what she had to do. Pulling her hands free from Kozik's grasp, Marlowe smiled softly and reached up as to caress his cheek—

And then slapped him upside his head!

* * *

"Ow!" Kozik yelped as he looked into the snark-filled eyes of the young woman sitting across from him. "Damn it! What the fuck, Doc?!" he howled.

"Just be glad it was only a slap, idiot. I've been taught by the best, you know, and I'm not talking about the U.S. government either," Marlowe retorted as she crossed her arms over her chest.

"I know I probably deserved that shit," Kozik started somewhat disgruntled, "but you wanna tell me why you just bitch slapped the taste outta my mouth?"

"Maybe because I wanted to make sure that pea brain of yours is still rattling around your otherwise empty dome," she retorted. "Or maybe I should've just dangled your ass out the window using your _bad_ leg for being so damn stupid."

Kozik opened his mouth to make a case against being labeled stupid when he suddenly snapped it shut. Nodding vehemently, he agreed. "You're right, I am stupid. I may be sober now, but I was fuckin' stupid and selfish for getting Shannon involved in my mess. You know what? I'm more than just fuckin' stupid, I'm a—"

"Zip it, asshole," Marlowe demanded, promptly shutting Kozik down. "If Shannon had ever been addicted to heroin, she must have cleaned up by the time I was born. As far as I know, I was a full-term and healthy baby. A drug overdose didn't kill Shannon," she said quietly as he stared at her with wide eyes. "After I moved in with Amelia, she started drinking heavily, got all bloated and started gaining weight. She lost her regular gig at the strip club and soon consuming alcohol became her full-time job. Shannon died waiting for a liver transplant that was never going to come because she was a fuckin' alcoholic. Cirrhosis of the liver killed her, not heroin."

"What?" he said blankly. "Are you sure?"

Marlowe rolled her eyes. "Of course I'm sure. Like it or not, I was Shannon's _only_ next of kin, so I think I know what killed my mother, Kozy," she assured him. "She died just as I was on my way back stateside from my second tour for some additional training. I took a brief leave to have her cremated and to wrap up her estate."

"I'm sorry," Kozik said softly. "That must have been difficult."

"Not really," Marlowe said, shrugging it off. "Amelia and Ceci packed up all of her shit and stored it away for me. Shannon had sold off anything of value years before, so all that was left was a mountain of debt she left behind, including six months of back rent on the house my grandmother left _me_ in her will, but which Shannon managed to sell anyway without my knowledge."

"That's a pretty shitty thing to do to your own kid," Kozik said with disgust.

"And yet, not the worst of the shitty shit Shannon was responsible for," Marlowe said bitterly, suddenly blinking rapidly to keep her threatening tears at bay.

Kozik reached out and grabbed her hand. "Anything you wanna share, Doc? It might make you feel better."

The genuine concern and sincerity in his voice clutched at Marlowe's heart. Still, she shook her head "no" as she used the back of her free hand to wipe away an errant tear. "It doesn't matter anymore," she said quietly. "It's all dead history."

"It's probably shit I should have been there to handle," Kozik realized sadly. "I'm so sorry I wasn't."

"Hey, first off, you _might_ be the baby daddy," Marlowe smiled. "We don't know for sure. And even if you are, you didn't know about me and that's not on you. That's on Shannon. Besides, I had the Tacoma Killah watching out for me."

"Thank God for that," Kozik muttered. "At least I had my brother doing right by you."

Marlowe squeezed his hand. "Koz, I don't blame you or anyone for the shitty parent Shannon was. I can't even bring myself to blame her sometimes. She was very naïve and child-like in a lot of ways. I believe that everything happens for a reason. Let's just leave it at that for now, okay?"

Kozik nodded. "So what now, Doc? Where do we go from here?"

"I don't know about you," Marlowe started, "but my head's kinda of a mess and I need time to sort shit out first. For now, at least, I think its best if we just keep this between us."

"I don't know, Marley," Kozik shook his head. In spite of the situation between him and Marlowe being personal in nature, he still felt an obligation to share the newfound knowledge of her possible paternity with his brothers. "At the very least, I think Hap needs to know the truth. Jax too."

"Hey, tell Happy at your own risk," Marlowe deadpanned, "because the chances of you ever using your leg again are highly unlikely if you do."

"I get that," Kozik conceded, "but I think he has a right to know something like this, especially when it concerns you. I know he loves ya, Doc. He sucks at showing it, but he does and he's the closest you've had to a father. He may end up actually kicking my ass, but I gotta believe he'll be there to support you through this."

"I know he would. In his own demented little way, I know I can always count on Hap," Marlowe acknowledged, "but let's sort some things out between you and me _before_ we go and blow up a bridge we haven't crossed yet, okay?"

"What about Jax?"

"What about him? I don't see how any of this would concern him," Marlowe said blithely and narrowed her eyes as Kozik burst out laughing.

"C'mon, Doc. I know you don't think Jax is only kicking it with you for shits and giggles, do ya?" he replied with a huge grin.

Marlowe's lips twisted into a grimace not unlike her brother's. "Oh, so you and Butthead _have_ been talking shit, huh, Beavis?"

"I ain't gonna contribute to my own ass-kicking by confirming that statement," Kozik began as Marlowe continued to glare at him. "But as my first _possible_ fatherly duty, I think I need to tell you that it's ALL OVER the SAMCRO wire that you and Jax are bumping uglies."

Marlowe's cheeks flushed a bright pink as she ran her hands through her hair, giving it a vicious tug. "You know, killing you now before taking a DNA test means I may never know the truth, but at least I won't have to tell anyone shit. End of story," she teased.

"DNA test?" he queried with a raised eyebrow. "You really want to go there?"

Marlowe took a deep breath and let it out shakily. "Don't you? I mean, it's the only way to know for sure. Unless, that is, you don't want to know," she said hesitantly.

"Of course I wanna know, Doc," Kozik claimed strongly.

"Okay," Marlowe smiled at him weakly, "but until we know for sure, let's keep this _All My Children_ -level drama just between us," she stated as she picked up the scattered photos from the bed and tucked them into her backpack.

Having watched her closely throughout their conversation, Kozik was keenly aware that Marlowe had run a gamut of emotions in a short period of time. She had gone from anger at discovering his connection to her mother to denial when the possibility that he was her father arose to acceptance as she decided on their next course of action. He knew that a career sailor and soldier like herself was used to being in control, but shit like this coming out of left field must be a shock to the system. He knew it had been for him. Probably an expert in surviving trying times himself, Kozik knew it was always better to deal with a blow like this with some back up.

"Listen, Marley," Kozik started softly, forcing Marlowe to look up from her backpack. "The one thing I've come to learn over the years is that it's okay to lean on the Club when shit gets tight. We call each other 'brother' 'cause that's what we are: family and it's a family you're already a part of. This is some heavy shit and I don't think you need to deal with it on your own."

Marlowe stood up and slung the backpack on her shoulder. "You forget, jarhead. I'm one of the Navy's toughest and I can handle my shit just fine," she said confidentially. "Taking this to Happy right now makes no sense. Let me do my research first and prepare for the shit storm I know is coming, okay?"

Not waiting for an answer, Marlowe started for the door. Stopping short, she turned and strode over to Kozik to press a gentle kiss on his forehead.

"You have no idea how glad I am I never let you into my pants," she quipped.

"I am too," Kozik laughed. "Would've made Father's Day _really_ awkward."

Sinking back into his pillows, Kozik finally let go of a long sigh of relief as Marlowe made her way out the door.

It was a hell of a lot for both of them to take in at once, but at least now Kozik was feeling a measure of peace knowing that, in the end, he wasn't responsible for Shannon's death. More importantly, Marlowe didn't hold him responsible either. That knowledge didn't wipe away the things he had done, but it did make it a little easier to live with himself.

Although he knew he owed it to Marlowe to let her handle the situation anyway she saw fit, he couldn't agree with her assessment that it was better to keep it just between them. Going through some heavy family crisis on her own by keeping Happy _and_ Jax out of the loop could definitely backfire on her. The last thing in the world Kozik wanted to be responsible for was another ten years of silence between Happy and his little sister. Besides, Marlowe talked a tough game, but he had seen some secret, undeniable pain in her eyes and she shouldn't deprive herself of the comfort and strength that his brothers could give her.

Knowing there would be hell to pay either way, Kozik reached into his drawer and pulled out his prepay. Hitting the speed dial, he waited for the call to connect.

"Hey, it's me. We need to talk."

* * *

Stepping into the hallway just outside Kozik's room, Marlowe stopped as the door closed behind her and exhaled. Using a shaky hand to tuck several wavy locks behind her ear, she looked up in time to see Benny the orderly and the young nurse she had kicked out of the room earlier at the other end of the hall. They appeared to be huddled and in deep conversation with an older woman she recognized as the head nurse in charge of the floor. As three pairs of eyes openly examined her cautiously, and feigning ignorance of the fact that they were probably talking about her, Marlowe threw her shoulders back, readjusted the backpack she carried and headed past the small group towards the elevator bank.

Grateful that no one saw fit to stop her, Marlowe pressed the elevator's call button. Glancing over her shoulder, she smirked with a shake of the head as she noticed the young nurse break away from the group and head to Kozik's room.

 _No doubt to make sure I left him in one piece_ , she thought to herself as she waited for a patient with a walker to slowly exit the elevator before entering. With so much to ponder and let sink in, she quickly nixed the idea of visiting with Amelia for a while. Instead, after acknowledging the elevator's only other passenger with a slight nod, Marlowe pressed the lobby button and waited for the doors to close.

It was early enough for her to head back to Charming and do another five-mile run to clear her head before it got dark. With any luck, SAMCRO would be safely ensconced in the Chapel for Church, giving her a chance to return to her dorm in order to shower after her jog.

The elevator doors opened and Marlowe found herself in the bright and airy lobby buzzing with life as several groups of patients returned from their afternoon of outdoor activities. Dodging a couple of wheelchairs and a man on crutches, she stepped outside into the dry July heat and with long strides headed for the parking lot. Tossing her backpack into the passenger seat of the Impala, Marlowe slipped in behind the wheel.

Slamming the door shut, she twice tried and failed to get the key into the ignition in order to start the car. Only when the key fob fell from her grip and onto the car floor did she realize that she was crying once again. Hating herself for feeling so weak and vulnerable, she violently banged her balled up fists against the dashboard before slumping forward as sobs tore unbidden from her chest.

With her forehead against the steering wheel, Marlowe let herself grieve for all that could have been and all that never would be.

* * *

Herman Kozik hated the fact that, even after more than a month spent recovering, he was still at the mercy of his injured leg. He was not accustomed to feeling helpless and out of control, which was exactly how he felt facing off against Happy Lowman and Jax Teller knowing he had nowhere to go.

Sitting upright in his hospital bed, it was all he could do not to tell them to go away. After all, he had been the one to call them to his bed side, but if he knew for a fact that his leg could get him far, he would have jumped out of bed and made a run for it if it meant getting away from the two pair of questioning eyes aimed in his direction. While the deep blue set were looking at him with a mixture of empathy and, not at all surprising to Kozik, a bit of happy anticipation, the other pair that were dark as pitch were blazing with anger also reflected by the deep grimace etched into the face of the Tacoma Killah. Kozik had no doubt that if looks could kill, Hap would be adding a smiley face to the impressive collection on his torso before the end of the day.

Making the judgment call to ignore Marlowe's request to keep their business just between the two of them for now had been a relatively easy one for him to make. Kozik hadn't, however, taken into consideration the life-threatening consequences he would face in making that decision, but he hadn't been thinking about himself. At the forefront of his mind was concern for the young woman he already cared for and who could very well be his own flesh-and-blood kid. Although it was no secret that Marlowe Guthrie was a tough bitch with ten years of military training and service under her belt, Kozik also recognized in her the propensity to internalize shit that made her uncomfortable, very much like her surrogate brother/father Happy.

Although her initial anger had nearly burned him with its righteousness, she had managed to cool herself down and regain her composure as no doubt she had learned to do under pressure in the Navy. At the same time, her mask of calm pragmatism had shown cracks and Kozik knew that, in spite of rolling with the punches, learning of his history with her mother and of the possibility that he was also her biological father had rocked her at her center of gravity. Marlowe wasn't a patch, but in every way that counted to Kozik as a former Marine, she was a "brother-in-arms" and to him that meant doing something when a "brother" was suffering through shit they may not even recognize in themselves.

_You never leave one of your own hanging. Ever._

He had been lucky enough to catch the Pres and his SAA in the Chapel with the VP discussing the rotation schedule and the new planned route for the next trip to Vancouver. Getting Hap to drop handling Club business was never easy but he had hauled ass to Modesto once Kozik informed him that it was a family matter he was calling about. What _had_ been a problem for Hap was Kozik's insistence that he bring Jax along for the ride as it involved him as well.

Barely twenty minutes later, Happy and Jax had hurriedly entered his room. Kozik quickly assured Hap that nothing was wrong with his mother—which Happy had already ruled out considering Kozik's desire to speak with Jax. Only slightly relaxed by his brother's assurance that Amelia was fine, Happy's whole body seemed to be humming with tension as Kozik braced himself for the Herculean task he had set up for himself by calling them over.

Jax was the first to question urgently if something was up with Marlowe. Kozik had nodded briefly and watched as a deep look of concern etched itself across Jax's already tight features, as well as the grim expression on Happy's face as he took note of the SAMCRO Pres' reaction.

As the two powerful men continued to stare him down as they waited for him to elaborate, Kozik reached for a glass of water to soothe his suddenly dry throat. Inwardly ordering himself to man up and stop acting like a little bitch, Kozik started calmly by asking them both to put the brakes on interrogating his ass until he got the situation in full off of his chest.

 _At this point, I guess all I can hope for is that there's enough of me left for that DNA test_ , he thought dismally.

During his recitation of the events of that morning, Kozik heartily wished that he had his Sig Sauer p238 at his bedside. If armed, he reasoned, he might actually have a chance of holding Hap off for a minute, maybe even two. However, he wasn't at all so sure about Jax.

After nearly ten minutes of straight talking, Kozik finally concluded with a heavy sigh as he ran a hand over his choppy hair. "I know this is a lot of shit to take in," he started, but was abruptly cut off.

"No fuckin' shit, Sherlock!" Happy growled as he took a step towards the bed.

"Whoa, Hap, you need to calm down for a sec," Jax said crisply. "I know you're upset and you have every right to be—"

"You're damn right I do," Happy growled as he turned to face Jax. "And right now I don't need you butting into this shit. THIS is about MY family," he said tersely. "Not yours."

Kozik could almost hear Jax's jaw click with tension. "That may be true, brother, but that doesn't mean you dictate who gets to care about Marley," he shot back, his blue eyes darkening in anger.

"Since when do you give a shit about the pussy you're tapping?" Happy spit out with a smirk.

"She's not pussy and you know me well enough to know the difference," Jax replied angrily. "The sooner you let yourself realize that, the less problems you and I will have going forward."

"I truly doubt that, _Pres_ ," Happy snarled.

It was becoming clear to Kozik that things were already tensed out to the max and in danger of getting out of control. He was royally pissed at himself for being at the center of tension among brothers. "Look, Hap, you take this shit out on me and tear me a new asshole whenever you want, but that's not why I asked you here now," Kozik said loudly as the two men continued glaring at each other standing eye to eye. "You need to put your shit with Jax aside and focus on Marlowe. I'm concerned about her."

"I've been concerned about her practically all her fuckin' life," Hap said never breaking eye contact with Jax. "So don't expect me to give a fuck because you're a day late and a dollar short."

"Yeah, you're absolutely right about that, but that's not the point. Bottom line, Marlowe needs _both of you_ right now," Kozik stated. "I think she needs to talk shit out, but she swore me to secrecy. She's a lot like you Hap; not the most talkative bitch in the world. I think you need to talk to her, but maybe give her a day or two to sort through the noise in her head first."

"Fuck that," the SAA replied. "Me and Marlowe are talkin' this shit over tonight." He watched with narrowed eyes as his President shook his head slowly as he crossed his arms over his broad chest, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

* * *

Listening to Kozik's impassioned pleas, Jax knew that he needed to pull back and remain non-reactive, no matter how hard Happy tried to goad him. Emotions were running high with Kozik torn apart by guilt and Happy seething with rage and it was up to him, as the man in love with Marlowe, to provide some calm reasoning.

Hearing Kozik relate the circumstances of his relationship with Marlowe's mother and some details of her life as a child had tugged at his heartstrings, making it difficult for Jax to remain unaffected. For Marlowe's sake, however, it was important to keep Happy from going off the rails. It was clear that he was pissed off about the situation, as he had every right to be, but Jax figured that it was also likely that Hap was feeling some insecurity as to how this new development would affect his relationship with Marlowe. After all, the two had spent ten years not speaking to one another, having only recently reconciled.

But having first-hand knowledge of Marlowe's history with PTSD was pushing Jax's overprotective tendencies into full throttle and he wasn't about to let Happy have complete control of the situation. Even though Marlowe claimed that Happy was aware of their relationship and was just unwilling to acknowledge it, it was that relationship clearly developing into something much stronger and deeper than "friends with benefits" that propelled Jax to make it clear to his SAA that he had a right to express his views.

"Look, Hap, when it comes to Marlowe, no one's saying that you haven't been there for her. You're her family and I get that," Jax started heatedly, "but as the closest thing that Marlowe has to an old man, I'm asking you to chill the fuck out for a moment and think about what she must be going through."

The air was humming for a full ten seconds before the SAA exploded.

Getting into Jax's face, Happy growled, "You have no idea what it's been costing me to remember that I need to respect that patch on your kutte," he said, referring to Jax's "President" patch. "We both know you ain't her old man. Just because I ain't said shit about you and Marlowe hooking up don't mean I haven't heard the shit talk. It's all over the damn Clubhouse that she's your personal and _paid for_ croweater—"

With that last barbed arrow hitting the bull's eye, shit spiraled out of control so fast that all Kozik could do was swear foully as Jax's heavily ringed fist slammed into Happy's face.

* * *

Tig was a horny son of a bitch and, as such, always on the look out for his next fuck. It was just the way he was wired, which was something many of his former old ladies refused to understand, much less tolerate. It didn't matter where he happened to be—gas stations, diners, titty bars—the curly-haired outlaw was always on the prowl for a new, but temporary home to rest his dick in.

Naturally, of course, the Wellness Facility was just another stomping ground for a biker in search of new pussy and had become a real side benefit to visiting Kozy several times a week.

It had been something of a surprise when word spread through the SAMCRO gossip mill to charters from San Bernardino to Tacoma, all the way to Salt Lake City and beyond that the two men had finally managed to mend the rift that had torn their friendship apart. Unable to be in the same room together without kicking each other's asses for the past nine years, Tig had tried blocking Kozik from patching into SAMCRO again not just once but twice. To Tig's way of thinking, Kozik had taken the pussy route by patching in while he did his time in Stockton, but with his former best friend and partner-in-crimes-against-nature back in the fold, Tig decided it was time to give the "dumbass blond" a pass.

Thanks to Kozik taking a seat at the near-empty Redwood table, Acting President Opie Winston had managed to keep SAMCRO alive and earning until the rest of the crew was released from prison. Since then, it almost seemed as if no time had passed as the two former Marines fell into an easy friendship, their mutual love for debauchery, riding, fighting and the dissemination of hot Club gossip bonding them once again. With Happy thrown in the mix, it seemed as if the Wolf Pack was back and everything was as it should be. As much as they busted each other's asses over the years, however, Tig couldn't remember ever being called on to break shit up between Hap, Kozy _and_ Jax, even though he should have seen it coming.

Having grabbed a bite to eat at Hanna's after returning from his run to Oak-Town, Tig decided to swing by for a visit with a piece of the diner's homemade cherry pie Kozy had a hankering for. The outlaw had made a slight detour at the Nurses Station opposite Kozik's room as he spotted the cute little Latina nurse with an ass that rivaled J-Lo's. He had been steadily hitting on the petite brunette ever since Kozik had checked into the Center and she had been giving off vibes that it was time for him to close the deal.

The little bitch was making him work for it though and after about fifteen minutes of sexual innuendo masquerading as witty banter, the Latin beauty was about to slip him her digits when heatedly raised voices reached his ears.

Cocking her head to the side in alarm, the nurse put a hand on her hip as she stared in the direction of Kozik's room. "What in the world is going on in there?" she muttered as the sound of voices began to get louder in volume. "I already had to call for security earlier today. Mr. Kozik and his lady friend were having a pisser of an argument."

Filing that piece of info away to follow up on later, Tig gently grabbed the hand she was using to pick up the phone and guided it back to its cradle. "Don't sweat it, doll. I think I know that music. I'll take care of it for ya," he said. Picking up the paper bag holding Kozik's pie, Tig headed towards his brother's room. Drawing closer, he suddenly realized that whatever had been going on had escalated as he heard bodies being shoved into walls and furniture and the heavy thumps of what had to be fists landing on flesh.

"Fuckin' hell!" Tig muttered. Throwing open the door, the former SAA ducked inside just in time to see Happy's fist connect with Jax's right eye. "What the fuck!" he hollered. In his haste he dropped the pie on the floor as he rushed forward to keep the SAMCRO Pres and his SAA from killing each other. Finding himself thrown to the side and almost falling over a chair, Tig quickly righted himself as the two men were suddenly caught in a bear hug, first hitting one wall and then the bathroom door as one tried to get a better hold on the other while still raining down fists.

"Stop this shit, Tig!" Kozik yelled as he lay helplessly from his bed watching the two officers beating on each other.

Running towards the grappling pair, Tig stepped on the pie he had dropped, coming down hard on one knee. "Mother fuck!" Tig howled as his aching knee roared with pain. Ignoring it, he leapt to his feet once again and this time managed to wedge himself enough between the two in order to shove them apart. Slamming Jax against the wall with one extended arm, Tig used the other to keep Happy at arm's length.

"I knew I should have put some money down on this shit happening," he yelled at Kozik over his shoulder.

"It ain't even about that, Tiggy," Kozik shouted as Jax and Happy continued to hurl insults and threats at each other.

"Well, then what the fuck?!" Tig nearly whined as Happy managed to sneak a punch past him and clipped Jax on the side of the head. The former SAA had had enough. "STOP THIS SHIT RIGHT NOW BEFORE SOMEONE CALLS THE SHERIFF!"

As if suddenly aware of who and where they were, the common sense advice hollered in their faces finally penetrated the blind rage that had overtaken both men. Straightening himself, Jax threw up his bloody hands to indicate he was backing down.

Turning, Tig raised an eyebrow at Happy. "Are you gonna chill the fuck out too, man?" he asked wryly and watched as Happy, still glaring daggers at Jax, lowered his fists.

"Now," Tig said conversationally as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, "would anyone like to share why the sudden need to pound each other into paste?"

"Why don't you ask the asshole in the bed? I'm sure he's just itching to tell you," Happy bit out, using his thumb to swipe at the trickle of blood coming from his nose. "I'm outta here."

"Hap, wait a minute," Kozik began but was cut off.

"I'm done talking." Happy stomped towards the door, stopped and turned to face the room. His voice slightly hoarse from shouting dropped to its usual quiet and cold menacing tone. "You two fuck this up," he said pointing an angry index finger at Kozik and Jax, "I'm gonna forget that we're all brothers." Aside from the door slamming shut behind Happy as he left, the only sound in the deathly quiet room was the angry deep breathing coming from his opponent.

As Jax started towards the door, Tig pushed him back gently. "Hey, Pres, maybe you need to chill for a sec," he said in a low voice.

"Fuck off, douchebag," Jax said angrily and pushed his way past a stupefied Tig and out the door.

Quick-stepping it right behind him, the only thing that stopped Tig from going after either man was the fact that Happy was already down the hall as Jax stomped-swaggered his way in the opposite direction. Sighing, Tig reentered the room. Leaning against the door, he brought his ringed hand up to scratch his tousled curly hair and proffered a wry grin.

"I guess Hap finally knows about Jax tapping Doc's fine ass," he started only to be glared at by Kozik. "Whacha looking at me like that for?"

"All the shit that has gone down today is all your fuckin' fault," Kozik retorted angrily.

"Me?! What the fuck did I do?" Tig asked bewildered as Kozik rolled his eyes.

"That's the last fuckin' time I ever ask you to do me a favor," Kozik shook his head irritably.


	39. Chapter 39

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sons of Anarchy. I do, however, own Marlowe and any other OCs that appear in the 2 Sons Universe.**

* * *

_**Friday, July 23, 2010** _

For probably the third time since getting home, Jax examined his face in the mirror and frowned. It wasn't the fact that showering had done very little to improve the state his face was in that had Jax wincing at his own reflection. It was the fact that the bruising and swelling were the result of having come to blows with one of his own brothers. His Sergeant-at-Arms no less.

"Daddy got boo boo," Abel announced with stern authority from his comfortable perch on the bed.

Turning away from the dresser, Jax glanced over his shoulder to look at his son, who was the picture of confusion and skepticism.

It was just the two Teller men in residence that evening now that Jax had come straight home after Church to relieve Elyda. Hearing him enter the house, the nanny was walking towards him with an already-dressed-for-bed Abel clinging to her leg when she stopped short. Elyda had taken one good look at his face and had tsk-tsked under her breath. A barely whispered "Ay Dios mio" had made its way to Jax's ears before she greeted him cheerfully with "Hola, Mr. Teller," apparently quite comfortable with completely ignoring his current condition.

That had been pretty much the same reaction Jax's appearance had elicited from just about everyone sitting around the Reaper table earlier. With shit talk about him and Marlowe making the rounds, it didn't take a Mensa genius to put that together with Hap's empty seat at the table and ending up with a reason for Jax's busted up countenance.

With Tig being the only other witness to the blow up that afternoon, Jax was sure everyone was convinced that Happy had finally caught wind of his relationship with his sister and had lost his shit. If that were the case, they were only partly right and, for that, Jax was grateful. He could only hope that Kozik had seen fit to keep his possible paternal connection to Marlowe from spreading any further by not telling Tig. Either way, in the mood he was in, Jax decided that it was best that no one dared broach the subject of his relationship with Doc, not even his best friend Opie.

Jax Teller's son, however, had no such scruples. Scooting away from Elyda, Abel's huge blue eyes and outstretched PJ-covered arms begged for his father to pick him up. Once held firmly against his father's muscled chest, the little boy pulled back in order to survey his battle-scarred face.

"Boo boos!" Abel announced with some concern. Putting his little hands on his father's face, he reached forward to kiss him on his split lip, causing Jax to wince slightly.

"It's just a scratch, little man," he assured his son smiling faintly.

After getting a brief report on Abel's day from Elyda, Jax had thanked the nanny, slipping a few extra crisp bills into her hand as he escorted her to the door. Finally alone with his happily babbling—and nowhere near sleepy—companion, Jax settled Abel snugly into his stroller which he parked right outside the open bathroom door before peeling off his clothes and slipping into the shower.

Now standing in front of the mirror, Jax grimaced as he took inventory of the damage he had sustained during his incredibly heated fight with Happy. Apparently, even his barely two year old son realized that his Daddy didn't look too pretty at the moment. His bottom lip was split, courtesy of Hap's initial killer right cross. He was sure to have a beauty of a black eye by morning thanks to a left jab that had caught him unaware and his nose was swollen, but not broken, from a knee to the face.

"My brother has a fist like a hammer," Jax muttered to himself as he massaged his sore jaw, grateful that his beard would cover any other bruising he may have suffered.

At least he had the satisfaction of knowing that he gave as good as he got. Although it may seem that Hap had walked away with just a bloody nose, he would be feeling those shots to the ribs Jax had dished out for days.

Throwing on a clean pair of sweats and a SAMCRO t-shirt, Jax moved towards the bed, and reaching down, picked Abel up. He smirked and rolled his eyes as he noted the extra weight his son was carrying in his loaded diaper.

"C'mon, champ. Let's clean your ass up." Flinging the little boy over his shoulder, Jax grinned as Abel let out a joyful squeal as they headed to the nursery.

Placing Abel on the large changing table, Jax made quick work of stripping him of his footy pajamas. As he went about the task of getting him clean and fresh once again, he couldn't keep his mind from wandering over the events of what should have been a busy, but otherwise uneventful day.

Some new family drama involving Marlowe was the last thing the SAMCRO Pres had expected to deal with after a long day of Club business. Being on hand when Happy got the call from Kozik, Jax had been a little surprised when Happy had turned to him and said that Koz needed to see him as well.

In the back of his mind, however, Jax realized that he should have known something was up when his numerous telephone and text messages to Marlowe had gone unanswered. Being called to Kozik's bedside to hear the biker relate knowing Marlowe's mother intimately had come out of the fuckin' blue. While it was certainly a small world, and it suddenly seemed to Jax that it was getting a lot smaller, he had not found the news all that troubling. His main concern had been Marlowe and how learning that Kozik could be the father she never knew would affect her.

Unfortunately, not everyone in Kozik's private room had taken the revelation in stride.

In all the years that he had known him, Jax had never seen Happy Lowman so intensely angry and upset over any situation. Even though Hap wasn't the kind of man to wear his heart on his sleeve, it was obvious to Jax that he had a special relationship with Marlowe and that he loved her in his own way. For as many times that Happy may have tried to sweep his deep affection for his sister under the rug in front of his brothers, it was clear to almost everyone that Happy was more of a _father_ to Marlowe than a _brother_ , and maybe that was at the root of his inexplicable rage.

To Jax it was clear that Happy's anger was as much territorial in nature as it was pure concern for how this shit would land on his surrogate sister. It was quite possible that the thought that Kozik could be Marlowe's biological father enraged him as equally as what Happy perceived as Kozik's abandonment of a daughter he never knew existed in the first place.

What Jax couldn't understand (or forget, for that matter), however, was the venom that had spewed from Happy's mouth as he deflected his anger onto Marlowe and her relationship with him. Jax could understand the insecurities men like themselves were vulnerable to when it came to loving someone, but calling Marlowe his "personal and paid for croweater" had crossed the line. Whether or not they shared a patch as brothers, Jax's love for Marlowe entitled her to his loyalty as well and he had no regrets in throwing the first punch.

Now as Jax's anger cooled, he understood that even though Happy had reacted like a wounded animal, he and his SAA were very much alike in that they felt duty-bound to protect those they loved from any perceived threats. Even though both men were well aware that she was more than capable of taking care of herself, Marlowe's well-being had been at the forefront of their minds when shit suddenly went south between them. With that in common, Jax was sure that once the shit storm regarding Marlowe's paternity blew over, he and Hap would be able to mend fences.

Apparently, Opie had been wrong in his assessment of his situation with Happy. Indeed, Happy had a lot of anger towards him and the reason why was his involvement with his sister. Truth be told, that brotherly, yet unreasonable concern had pissed Jax off as well. After all these years, Jax had thought that Happy should have known him a little better than to really believe that Marlowe was nothing more than pussy to him. Sure, Jax would be the first to cop to his reputation as something of a man whore. Shit, after all, he had earned it, but he had hoped that Hap would realize that he had too much respect for him and would never treat Marlowe like a pass-around.

With Happy stomping off for parts unknown, Jax knew that while they had unfinished business to take care of when it came to the Club medic, at least Marlowe would have the time and space she needed to deal with the Kozik situation at her own pace.

Only recently had Jax come to terms with the realization that he wanted— _needed—_ Marley in his life permanently. Although he still needed to make this fact known to Marlowe herself, it was now obvious that he also had to make it crystal-fuckin'-clear to Happy that he wasn't just killing time with his sister.

 _With all that has blown back on Marley today, it's just a matter of picking the right time to do it_ , Jax thought as the sudden clamor of a doorbell echoed down the hall and through to the nursery.

"Bing-Bong!" Abel said in a sing-song voice. "Door, Daddy."

Figuring that it was probably his mother, Jax scooped up his now sweet-smelling son in his arms and headed towards the door. Keeping Abel in his left arm, Jax hesitated as he quickly felt for the gun in his holster underneath his kutte hanging from a hook by the front door. Tucking it into the waistband of his sweats, Jax took a quick look through the peephole, his eyes widening with surprise and concern. Unlocking the door, he pulled it open and in the shadows of the warm summer evening stood face to face with the Club medic.

"Hey," Marlowe started hesitantly only to stop as her mouth dropped open. "What the fuck happened to you?" she exclaimed.

"Hey, Doc," Jax said with a sheepish smile as she pushed her way inside and grabbed a hold of his chin so she could get a better look at his face.

"Damn it, Jax! What were you doing today? Knocking someone out with your face?" she asked as she poked and prodded.

"Ouch, babe. Take it easy there," Jax said. "It's all good."

"Really?" she said derisively as she crossed her arms. "What's good about the fact that you probably won't be able to see out of that eye tomorrow?"

"No matter, darlin'. I can see just fine right now and I have to say," he said softly as he drank her in, "I'm pretty surprised and happy to find you on my doorstep tonight, 'specially since I've been blowing up your prepay all day."

Not taking kindly to being ignored, the smallest Teller in the room spoke up from his perch in his father's arms. "Hi, Arlo!" he said cheerfully.

"Hi there, sweetheart," Marlowe said, a little surprised that the little boy remembered her name. As Abel held his arms out arms towards her, she looked askance at his father.

"I think he wants to give you a hug," Jax said, glad that Abel was taking Marlowe's attention away from the fact that he was all jacked up. He wanted to avoid explaining _who_ had turned his face into a couple of pounds of ground meat for as long as possible.

"Sure," Marlowe grinned softly and despite the smile on her face, Jax could see that she looked exhausted.

Reaching out, Marlowe took Abel into her arms and sighed with pleasure as the little boy gave her a wet, sloppy kiss on her mouth before wrapping his arms around her neck for a tight hug. It was the best feeling in the world after the day she had endured and Marlowe reveled in the tender feelings the small boy provoked in her as she cuddled his warm little body in her arms. Looking at Jax over Abel's tousled blond head, she sighed dramatically as she eyed his tore up face once again.

"Dig my first aid kit out of my backpack, outlaw," Marlowe ordered. "I think I need to earn my pay by patching up that mess you call a face."

* * *

Sitting on the coffee table opposite Jax, who was on the couch with Abel on his lap, Marlowe took her time carefully patching up the SAMCRO Pres. With the exception of Abel, who was making quite an effort to talk up Marlowe and steal her attention away from his bruised up father, the house was relatively quiet.

 _God, what am I doing here?_ she thought a little ruefully as she swiped some alcohol on several small cuts on Jax's face. _This is_ _not why I showed up on Jax's doorstep tonight._

The fact of the matter was, if she had stuck to her initial plan, she would not have made it past the threshold. Marlowe had spent a long afternoon trying to come to terms with everything she had learned since finding pictures of Shannon in Kozik's dorm. Forced to revisit a living nightmare from her childhood, only to discover that someone she considered to be a good friend could possibly he her father had proven too much to endure. Although she had managed to put on quite an act, convincing Kozik that she was fine, the truth was she was anything but. In a few short moments, a handful of photos had dredged up the foulest of memories, shattering life for Marlowe as she currently knew it.

Barely making it to her car before collapsing utterly devastated, Marlowe had spent the remainder of the day driving around aimlessly, desperately trying to clear her mind of everything she had learned. Part of her wanted someone to talk to, but bringing this to Happy or Amelia would be too much to deal with too soon. Maybe, in a situation like this, the right thing to do would be what her gut had initially told her to do.

_Run. Run, and don't look back._

Over the last month Marlowe had started getting used to the idea of how much she loved living in Charming. A small, sleepy town it may be, but there were sure a lot of people living here that made it interesting and which she had quickly come to care about deeply. In such a short period of time she had made enough of a new life for herself that she had considered letting Amelia and Ceci return to Bakersfield without her.

Now, however, Marlowe was starting to realize that life in Charming would be too messy and complicated for her to deal with. Deciding to follow her gut, Marlowe had returned to the Clubhouse to pack her shit and bail. Unfortunately, her timing had been off and by the time she returned to the lot, Church was over and the after-party was in full swing. Hoping to avoid Jax, Marlowe walked into the crowded Clubhouse to discover that a new member had been patched in.

Wearing a grin from ear to ear, Filthy Phil had been stripped of his Prospect kutte and was now sporting a new one with his hard-earned top rocker. No longer manning the bar, he was sitting on the couch laughing and talking with Juice, Miles and a couple of croweaters, his happiness as a full-fledged member of SAMCRO clearly evident.

Looking around for Happy and not spotting him or Jax, Marlowe had quickly made her way to the bar and grabbed Ratboy by his shoulder.

"Have you seen Hap?" she asked urgently.

"Sorry, Doc," he replied with a shake of his head. "He left a few hours ago."

"Shit," Marlowe muttered. "Where'd he go?"

"Have no clue, but he had his saddlebags with him. Heard him tell Chibs he'd be gone for a couple of days."

"Damn it. I really needed to talk to him," she groused mostly to herself.

"Too bad," Ratboy said sympathetically. "The Pres isn't here either. He, uh, looked a little under the weather, so he headed home."

 _Shit, even the Prospect knows about me and Jax_.

Marlowe stared Ratboy down. "I didn't ask about Jax."

"Uh, well, uh—" Ratboy stuttered as he took note of her sudden ire. Sighing, Marlowe decided to cut his ass a break and stalked off to her dorm.

She was in the midst of her pulling clothes from the dresser when she felt her prepay vibrate. Setting a small stack of bras and panties on the bed, Marlowe reached into the side pocket of her cargo pants to retrieve her phone. It was another text message from Jax.

_Hey, babe, you gonna leave me hanging all day or what? This isn't like you, so don't make me come looking for you and get back to me._

Sitting down heavily on the bed laden with her belongings, Marlowe ran her free hand through her loose hair, cursing softly under her breath.

Finally, after ten minutes spent debating with herself over what she needed to do, Marlowe stood up. Without a backwards glance, she headed out of her dorm and made a beeline to the bar. Waving an imperious hand at Ratboy, she waited until he came towards her end of the bar.

"So what's his address?" she said quietly and watched as the Prospect struggled to wipe the barely concealed smirk from his face. Finding a stubby pencil in one of the pockets of his kutte, Ratboy hastily scribbled an address and directions on the back of a cocktail napkin.

And so, full of determination, Marlowe made her way over to Jax's house. It would be better this way, to just man up and tell him herself that she was leaving. After all, she wasn't a coward and just leaving a message for Hap and skipping town wasn't the way to cut ties with Charming. As the SAMCRO Pres—and the man she had been regularly sleeping with—Marlowe owed Jax the courtesy of telling him herself. Amelia had Ceci around and would be heading back to Bakersfield anyway. She would call her surrogate mother from the road, explaining her early departure as homesickness. Happy or Jax could take care of telling everyone else that she was gone.

With some distance between them again, there would be no need to find out if Kozik was indeed her father. Life could just go back to the way it should be, hopefully sparing her anymore PTSD episodes related to her childhood. The horrors of war she could live with, but being forced to relive her abuse and Marlowe was sure she'd end up taking the coward's way out. More than likely, she'd eat a bullet from the gun Jax had loaned her, but she wasn't a coward and she wasn't going out like that. It was better if she left on her own terms now.

Which was why she had sought Jax out. But instead of explaining the reason for her visit, here she was, patching up Jax for the first and probably last time.

"You know, this is the first time I've ever had a need for your services," Jax said quietly, almost as if he had read her mind as Marlowe continued to minister to him.

"Yeah, and just how exactly did this happen?" she watched as Jax casually shrugged his shoulders.

"It was no big deal, darlin'. I'm just glad you finally reached out to me after avoiding me all day."

"I'm sorry about that. It was a . . . long day. I kinda got wrapped up in some unexpected shit, you know?"

 _Oh, I know darlin'_ , Jax thought, but she didn't know he did. Jax had fought his own SAA in order to give her some time and space and he wasn't about to be the one to bring it up now.

"I guess it's a good thing I decided to come over," Marlowe said as she used a butterfly strip to cover a minor wound. "There, all done," she announced and made quick work of putting away the portable first-aid kit she carried around in her backpack. That seemed to be the signal Abel had been waiting for.

Climbing down from his father's lap, Abel raised his arms over his head and looking at Marlowe plaintively said, "Up!"

"He's a lot like you, isn't he?" Picking up the toddler, Marlowe gently settled him in her lap. "On him, though, bossy is kinda cute," she said with an eye roll as Jax grinned unabashedly.

"We Teller men know what we want," he stated simply. "And we're not above softening a direct order with a winning smile in order to keep what we want once we get it."

Choosing not to address the implied statement in Jax's words, Marlowe turned her attention to his son who was playing with her hair. "And have you been a good boy today?" she asked as she cuddled him and Abel nodded vigorously.

"Story," he said, a pleading look in his eyes. "Peas."

"Oh, you're in for it now," Jax smiled as Marlowe looked up into his deep blue eyes. "He's a three-story a night kind of guy."

"Oh really? Well, I don't know how good I'll be, but I guess I can give it a try," she offered and stood up with Abel in her arms as he clung to her. Eyeing her surroundings, she blinked her eyes at the soft touches that she noted around the small, but attractive living room. "This is nice, but somehow I didn't get the Martha Stewart-vibe from ya, outlaw," she said nodding at the vases of flowers on the small end tables and the attractive pictures on the walls.

"Nah, I'm more of a Maxim posters and Harley memorabilia-kinda guy. This stuff got 'left behind', if you know what I mean," Jax said casually and Marlowe nodded getting the reference to his former old lady. "Let me give ya the tour before we hit Abel's room."

The house was a nice size for a small family with a living room, three bedrooms, an eat-in kitchen, laundry room, and a big backyard. Marlowe's eyebrows rose as she looked into Jax's bedroom, noting the huge bed.

 _Wow, lots of room to play in there_ , she thought. Feeling a sudden heated flush warm her cheeks, Marlowe looked up in time to catch Jax's semi-lecherous grin before he escorted her into Abel's room.

It was a cheerful room done in blue and white with pictures of motorcycles and "Abel" spelled out in letter cut-outs on the walls. Escorting her to a rocking chair, Jax went to grab a couple of books from the shelf while she and Abel settled down. Turning to face her, Jax's breath nearly caught in his throat.

_She looks right at home here._

Taking one of the books from Jax, Marlowe flipped it open and quietly began to read to his son. Taking a seat on the daybed, Jax was quiet as he watched them. He could literally see the tense look and strain in her eyes literally melt away as she bonded with Abel. He knew today had been a really shitty day for her, but he also knew one thing for certain.

_She's not leaving here tonight._

* * *

Closing the third book she was only halfway through reading, Marlowe smiled down at the little boy who was well on his way to the Land of Nod.

"Okay, now that I've knocked him out, what do I do?" she whispered at Jax. "My expertise on kids is pretty limited, in case you haven't noticed."

"Don't worry, Doc. A flash grenade could go off right now and little man here won't wake up." Standing up, Jax relieved Marlowe of his unresisting son and gently placed him in his crib. "Man, he's growing fast. I'm thinking he's gonna need a big boy bed soon," he whispered as Marlowe stood next to him and watched Jax gently tuck his son in for the night. Turning the baby monitor that was sitting on the changing table on, he motioned to Marlowe and they quietly left Abel to his slumber and returned to the living room.

Taking a deep, cleansing breath, Marlowe felt truly relaxed for the first time that day. She was also feeling quite proud of herself. As someone who knew squat about children, she had not screwed up too badly tonight with Abel, if she did say so herself. Not only was she feeling good about that, she was feeling good just being in Jax's and Abel's company. It suddenly hit her how comforting it felt to be here.

And how much she didn't want to leave.

But standing in Jax's living room, Marlowe decided that now was the time to take the bull by the horns by getting down to the real reason she was there. The only problem was that what came out of her mouth was not what she had planned to say.

"I got certified." Marlowe blinked rapidly as Jax's questioning eyes centered on hers.

"Certified? What are you talking about, darlin'?" he said taking her hands in his and drawing her down to the couch next to him.

_Shit!_

"Uh, well, I—" Marlowe stammered.

"Spit it out, darlin'. I'm listening."

Marlowe sighed as she ran her hand through her hair.

_Get a grip, grunt! You've opened the damned door, so now you gotta walk through it._

"Well, I met a guy—" she started but was interrupted.

"What guy?" Jax said irritably, his brow furrowed.

"An _old guy_ ," she shot back, trying to repress a smile.

"How old?"

"Ancient. He makes Methuselah look like a teenager," she continued getting a wry grin from Jax. "I met him at St. Thomas. He was one of the EMTs that worked on Wade when he lost his thumb. Anyway, he told me about an opportunity I might be interested in, but I needed to be certified as an Emergency Medical Technician, which I am now. That means," she said casually as she looked at him, "that I can get a job as a paramedic anywhere in the State of California," she took a deep breath and continued, "even in Charming."

"Really?" Jax drawled slowly as he did his best not to lose his shit.

_Hot damn!_

"I've been thinking about—" Marlowe hesitated.

"About?" Jax prodded gently.

"My options. One of them might include me staying in Charming for a while instead of returning to Bakersfield with Amelia at the end of the month and I guess I'm just wondering what your thoughts are on that. I mean, I know that we're not exactly a couple and I'm not looking to force shit like that on you—" Marlowe started, only to squeal when Jax lifted her off the sofa and slammed her onto his lap. Straddling him, she found herself staring into impassioned blue eyes.

"There's something you should know about men like me," he said conversationally as his hands crept under her t-shirt and up her back.

"Yeah? And what's that?" she said breathlessly as he finally stripped her of her top.

"You can't _ever_ force an outlaw to do anything, unless that's what he wants, too," he said as he cupped his hands around her face to bring her closer to him. Nipping gently at her full lips, Jax ignored the pain in his own. " _And I want, Doc_ ," he whispered and in one smooth motion stood up and, with her legs wrapped around his waist, carried her down the hallway to his room.

* * *

Marlowe's eyes drifted closed and she bit down hard on her bottom lip as Jax slowly moved inside her. His slightly-callused hands were gentle but strong and it seemed as if Jax never stopped touching her. She had never been touched so much during sex and she realized that she couldn't stop touching him either.

Jax's fingers slowly moved across her ribs as he buried himself deeper into her, breathing hard to control himself and enjoy every inch of her. His thumb grazed the underside of her breast where she had a little birthmark, and he remembered how he had kissed and sucked on his discovery the night he had found it.

Jax pressed his nose against hers as their lips met once again. Breathing as one, they languidly teased each other with their tongues as Jax ran his large hand down her side and to her thigh that was pressed against his hip. He gently nudged her to open up just a little bit more and Marlowe's breath caught as he pushed himself in even further. Catching the breathy sound with his own mouth, he kissed her deeply as they both tried to control their breathing, but couldn't. Instead, they moaned and groaned as their bodies moved as one with intense pleasure.

Sex was never the same with them. Sometimes it was crazy and lust-driven, neither of them bothering to get fully undressed because doing so would take too long and they lacked the patience. Sometimes it was up against the shower wall, on the dresser in her dorm or bent over the hood of a car in the garage after closing. Sometimes, like tonight of all nights, it was slow, sweet and intimate, almost as if they _both_ knew it would be their last time together.

With that thought completely at odds with what her heart wanted, Jax groaned softly as he felt Marlowe's fingers tighten on his hips, pulling him in deeper as she unintentionally tightened her muscles around him.

"Fuck, babe! Shit," he whispered, propping himself up on his elbow to smooth her hair out of her face so he could look at her. "Don't do that, darlin'. Shit feels too fuckin' good," he panted, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. If she did that again, it was going to be over for him before he wanted it to be.

Marlowe whimpered his name in response as she arched her back under him. Jax closed his eyes, loving the breathy sound of his name falling from her lips, her need for more contact with his body making him weak. He loved everything about this . . . everything about sex with her, everything about falling asleep next to her afterward, seeing her lounging around the Clubhouse as if she were comfortably at home or at work mending everything from a cut on a hand with stitches to a bullet wound. He loved watching her with his son, but he especially loved knowing her body. Having learned every line and curve, he knew just how every one of her muscles responded to his touch.

"God, I love you, Marlowe," Jax murmured against her ear without even realizing it.

With a sharp intake of breath, Marlowe's eyes snapped open. She stopped moving underneath him at the same time Jax stopped moving inside her, stunned by his own inability to control his feelings from spilling out of his mouth.

Jax had been able to tell the moment he had laid eyes on her standing on his doorstep that she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. If he couldn't talk her through the shit she was experiencing, like he had stopped Happy from doing, then he would comfort her the best way he knew how. His intention, however, had not been to add to that weight by declaring his love for her, and for the first time, no less, as he made love to her. Anyone else might have gone ape-shit (in a good way) at his declaration, but Jax knew Marlowe better than to expect anything other than _bad_ ape-shit.

Of course he was right and it dawned on Jax how much he hated being right sometimes when, without warning, Marlowe suddenly pushed him off of her. She ran her unsteady hands over her face as Jax rolled onto his side, somewhat perplexed when he realized just how completely shaken she was with shock.

"Fuck," she muttered through her hands. Pushing herself up from the bed, Marlowe headed to the bathroom and shut the door quietly.

Jax let himself fall onto his back in the bed. Still hard and slick with her moisture, he pounded a frustrated fist on the mattress beneath him and cursed his runaway tongue. He didn't know what the hell he was doing . . . or what the hell _she_ thought they were doing, but she had to know that what they had was more than sex, right?

Marlowe looked at herself in the mirror above the sink, still flushed from fucking Jax.

_Jesus Christ, but we weren't just fucking, were we?_

No, what they had been doing had never really been "casual" or "just sex". She couldn't go on denying that feelings weren't involved, not anymore. But why did he have to go and say that he loved her tonight? Marlowe knew that she loved him too, but had hoped that by not acknowledging her feelings for the outlaw biker that she would still be able to walk away. Maybe if he had been pounding into her like a lust-driven madman, she could have chalked it up to getting carried away in the moment, but he hadn't been. Jax had been making love to her and she knew it. Even worse, she had been making love to him right back.

"Shit! I'm so fucked," Marlowe whispered to her reflection in the mirror as tears welled up in her eyes. "I'm so confused. I don't know what to do and I only made shit worse by coming here."

Turning on the cold water tap, Marlowe splashed her flushed face as she tried convincing herself that it wasn't too late to separate her feelings from her reality, but deep down, however, she knew it was.

"Babe?" Marlowe nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of Jax's voice from the other side of the door. After several moments of silence as Marlowe held her breath, Jax softly rapped his knuckles against the door. "Open up, babe. We need to talk."

No answer.

"Fuck!" Jax cursed through gritted teeth. Leave it to him to make things worse with three stupidly misplaced, but heartfelt words. Grabbing his jeans from the floor in front of the bed, Jax pulled them on and zipped up even though he was still painfully hard. "Marley, I need you to open the door, darlin'," he tried to say calmly. "Because me busting it down won't only piss you off, it's gonna wake Abel up too."

Marlowe closed her eyes as an involuntary shiver ran up her spine. Bracing herself, she unlocked and slowly opened the bathroom door. A bare-chested Jax, who had been leaning against the doorjamb, stood up straight but didn't step away. Their eyes meeting briefly, Marlowe looked away in search of her clothes.

"I have to go," she said quietly as she side-stepped him in order to pick up her underwear and cargo pants from the floor.

"What?" Jax was momentarily stunned as he watched her slip into her panties. "Babe, it's getting late. I'm not letting you go."

Hooking on her bra next, Marlowe shook her head slightly, still not making eye contact. "You really don't have a choice, Jax."

Jax ran both of his hands through his tousled hair in frustration. "Okay, if that's what you want," he started quietly. "I'll get one of the Prospects to come watch Abel and I'll take you back to the Clubhouse myself."

But Marlowe shook her head. "That's not what I meant." Pulling on her pants, she zipped and buttoned them before sitting down on the edge of the bed they had been making love in only moments before. "I'm leaving Charming, Jax, as soon as I finish packing my bag. I came over tonight to tell you."

Jax's jaw involuntarily clenched as his nostrils flared. Forgetting about Kozik and Happy and whatever issues they had with Marlowe, he concentrated on what had been foremost in his mind now for weeks. "So I _am_ alone in this, huh?"

"In what?" Marlowe shook her head as she looked up at him perplexed.

"In love!" Jax shot back angrily. "With you, damn it!"

Taken by surprise once again, all Marlowe could do was stare at Jax. "I don't know what to say."

Jax covered his face with his hands before pushing them through his hair again. Taking and releasing a deep breath, he stepped up to Marlowe and crouched down on his haunches in front of her. "Can you at least say that you love me too?"

Marlowe swallowed the golf ball-sized lump in her throat as she looked into the heartbroken sincerity in his eyes. Her trembling hand, moving of its own volition, gently cupped his bearded cheek. "I do love you, Jax. I love you _so_ much, but—"

"Shhh!" he said quickly as he grabbed her hand and kissed it. "The 'but' doesn't matter, babe."

Marlowe nodded, dislodging a couple of tears that had been dangling precariously from her long lashes. "In this case it does."

"No," Jax said with a firm head shake. "It doesn't, Marley. I love you and as long as you love me back, there's nothing we can't handle together. I promise."


	40. Chapter 40

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sons of Anarchy. I do, however, own Marlowe and any other OCs that appear in the 2 Sons Universe.**

* * *

_**Friday, July 23, 2010** _

The hot Nevada sun had long since set as the lone biker steadily made his way to his destination. Out in the middle of nowhere, this particular stretch of Highway 88 was blanketed in complete darkness, leaving him with only the moon and one headlight to guide him along.

Happy Lowman, Sergeant-at-Arms of the Sons of Anarchy Motorcycle Club Redwood Original, was in a real pisser of a mood and in desperate need of blowing off some steam. Whether he would accomplish his goal through fucking or fighting remained to be seen because as he stormed out of the Wellness Center, all he had known for sure was that he needed to put some distance between himself and Charming.

Not much of a talker to begin with, Happy was also too stubborn to admit that maybe his Pres had been right about waiting to talk to Marlowe. Not only would it have given his little sister time to process what she had just learned, but it would have given him a minute to cool down as well. Unfortunately, he had experienced this epiphany _after_ blowing shit up with Jax. _Way_ after, like he had been half-way to Nevada _after_.

Before that, Happy had spent an hour riding around Modesto compiling a mental hit list. Once he realized that he would garner little sympathy for killing not one but two brothers for a matter unrelated to the Club, Happy decided to head back to the Clubhouse to pack his saddlebags. Tersely informing a surprised Chibs that he was hitting the road and would be back in a few days, Happy had given the Scotsman his proxy vote concerning the patching in of a new member. In the short time it had taken him to pack, Happy had decided where he wanted to land on his feet and had pointed his bike towards the I-22 as he roared off the lot and made his way to Nevada.

Sharing a love for tight, young pussy, Happy knew Tig would be majorly pissed that he had been left behind on this particular road trip, but his brotherly love and loyalty had been tested enough for one day. It was bad enough that this situation with Marlowe had Happy questioning whether or not he would ever be able to share a patch with Kozik again, but he had already laid a hand on a brother—his President, no less—in anger outside the ring. The last thing he needed was spending time with Chatty Cathy Tig only to find a Marlowe-related reason to bury his ass in the desert.

In hindsight, however, Happy was glad that Tigger had been around to quash shit from escalating between him and Jax. Even though they had traded just a few punches by the time Tig stepped in, it had been plenty to cause more than enough damage. Even now, Happy winced a little at the soreness in his ribs. Although the only visible evidence of his involvement in a fight was a darkening bruise on his chin, Jax packed a powerful punch and had managed several well-placed body shots, including one to the kidneys that Happy was sure would have him pissing blood later.

When it came to Club shit, Happy had much respect for John Teller's only surviving son. Jax had taken SAMCRO over in what Happy long suspected had been a bloodless coup against Clay Morrow. In his short time at the head of the table, Jax had managed to see the Club through some pretty dicey situations, including pulling a victory out of his ass on Bloody Sunday. It had been Jax's quick thinking and unilateral decision to use high-powered Irish merch that had saved their hides, in spite of the friction Jax knew it would cause between him and Galen O'Shay later. Happy loved his brother and his dedication to their outlaw way of life. Over the past twenty years, Happy had witnessed the boy grow into a seasoned patch and effective leader just like his father.

However, Jax's immediate move on Marlowe after his old lady had left Charming had chafed Happy. Although the two men had yet to discuss Jax's interest in his sister, it was something that was constantly on Happy's mind. Marlowe's position with the Club was unique and afforded her a certain amount of respect. He didn't want what was tantamount to a casual way for Jax to kill time until his next old lady appeared on the scene to strip Marlowe of her special status, something she had earned for herself with savvy and skills. All it took was for one patch to treat a woman like a pass-around and a pass-around she would always be. So hearing Jax declare himself the closest Marlowe had to an "old man" had spun Happy out. In his mind, Jax had no rights over Marlowe to begin with and referring to himself as such had crossed the line.

For a while now Happy had been internalizing his feelings about his brother hooking up with his little sister.

 _Ignore it and it will go away_. BULLSHIT!

Happy soon realized that chatter about Jax and Marlowe was making its way around the mother charter, even though the subject was never a topic of conversation when he was around. The last thing he would allow was for anyone to disrespect Marlowe by associating her with the many pass-arounds that littered the lot. In his anger, however, Happy had been guilty of putting to words what would have been unforgiveable coming out of the mouth of any of his brothers. Even now, Happy couldn't help but wince when he thought about his cruel and angrily thrown words aimed at Jax, but ultimately tainting only his sister.

_It's all over the damn Clubhouse that she's your personal and_ _paid for_ _croweater._

And Jax had been completely justified in slamming his fist into his face, making it clear to everyone in that room that the SAMCRO Pres wasn't going to tolerate _anyone_ disrespecting Marlowe—not even her own brother. The rage with which Jax had come at him was causing Happy to rethink what was truly going on between the pair. Whether or not actual feelings were involved—and not just a particular itch Jax was using Marlowe to scratch—Happy had no way of knowing, unless he straight up asked and right now, he wasn't in the mood to find out.

All he knew for sure was that _no one_ would get away with hurting his little girl, because she was _his._

 _Certainly not Kozik's_ , Happy thought grimly as he took the exit for the US-395.

 _Kozik_. That was another situation he didn't want or need to think about. Mostly out of fear that it was starting to sound like a plan, turning his bike around and heading back home just so he could drag Kozik's maimed ass out of bed and into the boxing ring.

Re-hashing Kozik's past with Shannon as relayed to him and Jax by Kozik himself, Happy was running a gamut of emotions, none of which he was willing to acknowledge as each and every one had him wanting to choke the ever-loving shit out of his brother. Maybe it was his conservative Cuban family-centered upbringing, but Happy couldn't understand how a man could go through life not knowing he had a kid running around out there somewhere. Happy knew exactly how many he had. Zero! None! Zilch! And that was because like a good 'lil outlaw biker, Happy _always_ wrapped his junk!

 _Well,_ _almost_ _always._ _Never_ _while getting some head_ , Happy corrected himself. _After all, you couldn't get a bitch pregnant by pumping your spunk down her throat_.

The one reason Happy had for entrusting Kozik with watching out for Marlowe when she first arrived in Charming had been his innate respect for women. As Tacoma's former SAA, Kozik was more than capable of handling his shit and was only soft in his handling of the ladies. When it came to his duties for the Club, Kozik was just as cold-blooded and lethal as he and Tig. So when it came time to pick a protector for his sister, choosing between the two men he trusted the most with his own life had been a no brainer: Kozik had won over Tig, hands down.

And during Marlowe's first few weeks in Charming, it had seemed to Happy that he had made the right choice. Kozik, Marley and Tig had quickly bonded over their shared history of military service. Happy could now remember thinking at the time that while Tig's interest in Marlowe was purely sexual, Kozik seemed to have more of a fatherly interest over her well-being.

 _Now I know why_ , Happy sneered to himself _. The fucker has known for over a month now that he could be Marley's father_.

Taking this 3½-hour road trip seemed to be working as Happy found a way to possibly make peace with Kozik. He could bring himself to forgive Kozik for his failure to protect Marlowe as a child if he conceded that even though he may be her sperm donor, he would _never_ be her father.

That position was already taken and Happy wasn't about to step down.

So it was with an internal sigh of relief that Happy found himself pulling into the parking lot of the Sons of Anarchy Indian Hills Clubhouse and Bar. If all went according to plan, Happy would try to lose himself in weed, whiskey and Jury's fine stable of pussy. If he somehow managed to contain his shit and mellow out during his weekend retreat, chances were good that the Charming body count would remain at zero.

_For now._

* * *

The Indian Hills charter of the Sons of Anarchy was the first stop across the Nevada border for book and pussy. Formerly known as the Devil's Tribe, the small MC had been patched over by SAMCRO when the Mayans started making noise in this area of Northern Nevada.

At that time, the Tribe's ability to rake in the money by operating without law enforcement interference had caught the attention of the cowboy-boot wearing President of the Mayans MC. As a "fuck you" gesture towards SAMCRO for refusing to sell guns to the Mayans' Oakland charter, Alvarez pressed the Tribe, an independent MC loyal to the Sons, to pay his club a vig in order to continue running their book and pussy trade hassle-free. Now, however, with the Tribe patched over and SOA's Las Vegas charter providing protection and adding to the ranks with a number of members making the jump up North, the new Indian Hills charter continued to prosper without further incident involving the Mayans.

As was the norm on Friday nights, the newly-refurbished Clubhouse on the outskirts of town was the place to be to party. Packed from wall-to-wall covered in SOA memorabilia, the crowd was a mix of local regulars, truckers and out-of-town businessmen looking to drop their hard-earned cash on the horses or boxing. Yet, while running book was extremely profitable for Indian Hills, no one could deny that the majority of the mostly-male clientele were there to enjoy the warm and willing companionship provided by the fine stable of girls the Club always had on tap.

The atmosphere was rowdy and energetic, but relatively safe. With a number of Club members providing security for the girls by acting as bodyguards and bouncers, the clientele knew better than to get out of hand. Although everyone was encouraged to cut loose and have a good time, it was common knowledge that the Sons were unforgiving of anyone who stepped too far out of line, even if they were paying customers.

In the far corner of the large main room, two men were sitting comfortably on a couch talking as one of them kept an interested eye on a pair of buxom blonde strippers sharing one pole. Leaning back on the large, comfortable and butter-soft black leather sofa, Happy languidly rolled a medium-sized cigar between his fingers as he watched the strippers getting pleasantly freaky with each other. Nudged on the arm by Club's President, Happy leaned forward so that Jury could light his cigar for him without Happy having to look away from the show that seemed to going on just for him. Taking a deep draw, he slowly blew three smoke rings into the air and sighed in utter contentment.

_I really needed this shit._

"I ain't much into cigars. That's more Clay's bag, but I have to admit," Happy said over the loud music as he tore his eyes away from the stripper pole, "this shit's hot." He watched as Jury lit up his own Cohiba cigar and blew out a trail of smoke.

"I got the hook up with the Sheriff," Jury nodded towards the lawman currently ensconced in a dark corner with two of the brothel's working girls sitting on his lap. "It's true what they say about cops always having access to the best illegal shit. He gets a shipment of those bad boys from Cuba every few months," he grinned. "It's a fine thing. The taste of a good cigar is almost as good as the taste of a fine woman. You should learn to appreciate the finer things in life, Hap. You'll live longer."

"I seriously doubt that shit," Happy smirked as he raised his glass of whiskey to his lips and swallowed its amber contents.

"Well, coming here tonight's a step in the right direction," Jury stated pleasantly. "It's been a while since I've seen you in these parts."

"Not since the Tribe was patched over," Happy agreed. "Would have been back sooner too had Cali-fuckin'-for-nia not seen fit to send SAMCRO on an all-expense paid trip to Stockton prison."

Jury's face suddenly took on a more serious expression. "We were really worried about all you boys, especially after what happened to Jax. I'm just glad he made it out of there alive."

"Yeah, it was touch-and-go for a minute there, but he did a'ight. Besides, JT's boy is too fuckin' stubborn to die on someone else's time," Happy said with a bit of humor and, to his own surprise, some admiration as well.

"And thank God for that," Jury agreed. "You know he's gotta be a tough son of a bitch to wrestle the gavel away from Clay."

While Happy's expression never changed, inwardly he raised an eyebrow. It had been a unanimous vote that had installed Jax Teller at the head of the table after Clay decided to step down. After a rough fourteen months in lock-up without proper treatment for his hands, no one at the table had openly questioned his decision even though many considered the timing strange with the Cartel deal—a deal Clay had brokered—still on the table.

This was the second time, however, that a not-so-subtle hint had been dropped in his presence that what had actually happened had been a well-orchestrated and silent coup by Jax. Despite being curious to hear Jury's take on the situation, it wasn't in Happy's nature to air SAMCRO's dirty laundry to other charters. Instead, he listened quietly as Jury continued to talk.

"After the patch over, Jax really stepped up for us out here by insisting we needed some Las Vegas boys to fatten up the ranks. That 'little pop off' as Clay called it was just a preview of what the Mayans were capable of and Jax knew it. The new blood he forced Clay to pump into this charter went a long way in keeping us whole, brother," Jury smiled as he took another pull of his cigar. "I never doubted that Jackson had what it takes to be a fine leader. He's a lot like JT was, always looking out for his brothers."

 _Yeah_ , _when he ain't pressing up on Marlowe, Jax is damn near likeable_ , Happy thought a little snidely but decided to be honest with himself and Jury.

"I've watched him and Ope grow up from a pair of snot-nosed terrors into the men and leaders they are today. It's an honor to serve with them," Happy stated sincerely.

Jury nodded at Happy's SAA patch. "It didn't surprise me one bit hearing that Jax had retired Tig. It was a smart move on his part. I know Jax and I know he would want an SAA that was loyal first and foremost to the Club, not the man wielding the gavel," he said knowingly. "You're a good man, Hap, honorable. That 'Unholy One' patch you earned while in Tacoma doesn't do you justice. Anyone can be turned into the 'Tacoma Killah', but combine that Unholy One patch with the SAA one and it adds another dimension to you, Hap. One that Jax always knew was there. Cold-blooded you may be, but you're a thinking man too and it makes me feel good knowing that you're the one watching Jax's back now, no disrespect to Tig intended."

"None taken, and I 'preciate your confidence in me."

Changing the subject, Jury leaned forward to refill their glasses before speaking. "So how's the Cartel situation working out? I can't tell ya how much I appreciate the peace and tranquility now that the Sons are doing business with the Mayans." The older man took another pull on his cigar. "Hope shit's settled down some for SAMCRO."

Happy nodded his head. "It has now that we've managed to get shit facing right side up. You know we took care of the bastards that killed Armando, right?"

Jury nodded. "But not without some casualties, I'm sorry to say," he replied. "How is Kozik doing?"

Happy gritted his teeth at the sound of his brother's name. "He's . . . fine," he replied slowly after a brief hesitation. "He won't be riding for a while, but with some physical therapy he should be back in the saddle soon enough."

"Glad to hear that. You know what else I heard?" Jury asked conversationally and Happy shook his head. "Heard SAMCRO's got themselves a new medic who can really handle her shit. Heard she's responsible for saving Kozy's leg."

Happy frowned. "Oh yeah? Where the fuck did you hear all that?" he demanded.

"You know how it is, brother. Ever since the patch over, brothers from all over have made it up here at one time or another and they like to talk," Jury replied candidly. "A couple of patches from Tacoma were just down here a few weeks back talking about this bad ass medic who can patch shit up _and_ handle an AK like it's a ten-inch cock. A real looker too," he said, unfortunately for him, not noticing the suddenly sullen and stiff man sitting next to him. "Would be nice having a girl like that in my stable. I'm always on the lookout for a good bottom bitch."

"That potential 'bottom bitch' happens to be my fuckin' sister," Happy growled as he focused dark angry eyes on the suddenly-contrite older man.

"Aw, shit, Hap. I'm sorry. I meant no disrespect, brother," Jury apologized. "How the fuck did that detail slip past me?" he muttered mostly to himself.

"Don't know, don't care, but do me a solid and shut down any future shit talk about her around here. I'd hate having to thin out the herd for you again," Happy said his meaning clear.

"Of course and again, I'm sorry, brother," Jury responded sincerely. "You're here to relax, right? Well, let me personally help you along with that. My way of making amends."

Happy watched as Jury scanned the room several times. Finally making eye contact with someone, he made a 'come here' gesture with his large hand. Seeing customers, patches and girls parting the way, Happy settled back with a grin as he watched the petite but curvaceous dark-skinned beauty walking towards them.

 _I remember_ _this_ _bitch_ , Happy thought with a smile. _Never did get me a sample of Bobby's 'perfect darkness', though._

Coming to a stop, the young woman in gold lamé hot pants and matching halter top placed a hand on Jury's shoulder. "You rang, sugar?" she drawled her voice sounding like rich, warm honey.

"Yes, I did," Jury grinned as he took her hand. "Happy, I'd like you to meet Daytona. Daytona, this here is Happy from our mother charter in Charming, California."

"Well hello, Happy," she purred. Stepping past Jury, Daytona proceeded to make herself comfortable right on the biker's lap. Reaching an arm around his shoulder, she ran her other hand up and over his muscled chest, stopping briefly to tease a hard man-nipple with her index finger. "Mmm, mmm! I _definitely_ remember you. I have a thing for faces. _You_ were here some time ago with that fine and sexy Elvis. Tell me, sugar, you built like him too? You know, where it _really_ counts?" She grinned as she slowly let her hand travel south until it rested squarely on the massive bulge in Happy's crotch.

Suddenly, all was forgotten as the sexual predator in Happy took over. "Oh, I think you're gonna be more than happy," he growled.

"That _is_ your name, honey, so let's go find out." Standing up, Daytona grabbed his hand and, to Happy's surprise, pulled him off the couch before dragging him towards the private rooms at the back of the Clubhouse.

* * *

_**Saturday, July 24, 2010** _

_When will I learn that spur of the moment decisions are never a good idea_ , the woman sitting at the bar groused to herself.

If she were honest about her current situation, however, Nicoletta would amend that statement by saying that making spur of the moment decisions _while blazingly hot and horny_ was _never_ a good idea. Had she been thinking without the fog of sexual frustration clouding her judgment, she would have shared the good news with her sisters Gianna and Donatella. They would have treated her to a nice dinner out, which would have included at least a couple of bottles of red wine and some innocent flirting with the wait staff.

_Or maybe we could have done some real damage to our Amex Black cards at Neiman Marcus._

Either way, both were sensible and _sane_ alternatives to sitting in some biker bar in her fuck-me Louboutins. But then again, expensive wine and even more expensive clothing wasn't what Nicoletta needed, or was craving for that matter. Unfortunately, she realized as she casually scanned the bar for the tenth time that the man-meat out in force tonight wouldn't cut it either. Horny was one thing. Desperate? Never.

Determined to finish enjoying her drink before she cut her losses and headed back home, Nicoletta let her mind wander. Although the last thing she wanted to do was relive the past six months of family drama, both public and private, she rejoiced inwardly that at least she had one thing to be grateful for. Her sixteen-year marriage, on life support since practically the beginning, had finally been put out of its misery.

Sitting in her office the day before holding her final divorce papers, it had taken very ounce of self-control in her possession to keep herself from cutting loose with a war-whoop cry as she fist-pumped the air. After being held prisoner in a loveless marriage by her own sense of familial obligation, Nicoletta was finally a free woman. Right then and there she had made the decision to celebrate her new single status by getting laid. However, knowing that she had a reputation to maintain by not shitting where she lived and ultimately made a living, Nicoletta packed herself a weekend bag, jumped into her Porsche and high-tailed it to Indian Hills.

Securing a room in an out of the way hotel where she was sure to remain anonymous, Nicoletta made arrangements for a car service to take her to her fun-time destination, making a quick pit stop at a drugstore along the way. If her intention was to get hammered on alcohol and plowed by a biker, she would at least be responsible about it by not driving _and_ stuffing her small clutch full of condoms.

Unfortunately, having nursed the same drink for the past hour and turning up her nose at every man that had approached her thus far, it seemed like she wouldn't be having a need for either one. Thinking that if she left now, she could get enough sleep in order to get up in time for an early morning jump on traffic back to Reno, she motioned the bartender over. She was about to settle her tab and leave when someone suddenly plopped down on the stool next to her.

"You don't seem like you're having a good time tonight, darling," Jury said as he eyed the attractive woman who had been staring dismally at her drink.

"It doesn't look that way, does it?" she replied wryly.

"And that's a down right shame too," he responded. "You're looking mighty fine tonight to be left all by your lonesome," he continued with admiration in his voice. "You could be having a hell of a time, that is if you let me arrange some company for you." He grinned as she comically rolled her beautiful deep blue eyes at him.

"Jury, I like you a lot. I really do, but not nearly enough to give you a cut." The woman watched as he threw his full head of silvery hair back and roared with laughter.

"I always figured you to be a savvy businesswoman, ain't that right?"

"I can't afford not to be, especially not after all the money my father spent on my education," Nicoletta replied with a smile. "The best business lessons, however, I learned at my father's knee and he always told me to know my worth and never settle for anything less."

"That's some pretty good advice, sugar. Sounds like he's a smart man, but between you and me," Jury started conspiratorially, "if every father taught their daughters the same lessons, I'd have an empty stable right now." He signaled to his bartender, who quickly provided his companion with a fresh vodka tonic and a bottle of beer for Jury. Nicoletta smiled as she nodded her thanks at his generosity. "So what brings you out here to my neck of the woods, darling? You usually show up with a stack of bills ready to play some poker. Always beautiful, but never dressed-to-kill like tonight."

Nicoletta ran her manicured fingertip over the rim of her glass. "You really want to know?"

"Wouldn't ask if I didn't."

"Promise you'll stop me the second I start to bore you," she insisted

"Won't happen, but I promise anyway," Jury smiled.

Nicoletta took a deep breath and sat up straight. "You're the first to know this, but I am sitting here as a newly-recent divorcée."

Jury's eyes widened slightly. "What man on God's green earth would be so damn stupid that he'd cut _you_ loose?"

Nicoletta smiled widely, brilliantly white and perfectly even teeth on display. "Thank you, Jury, but for the record, I cut his ass loose. Unfortunately, not all marriages are love connections, especially not when your mother plays matchmaker."

Jury was slightly taken aback. "So this was an arranged marriage? They still do that shit in this day and age?"

"No, it wasn't an arranged marriage," Nicoletta laughed. "Not exactly."

"Then why did ya marry the idiot?" Jury asked. "And he is an idiot, by the way, if he couldn't find a way to work shit out with you. Once again, you are a fine-looking woman."

"And again, thank you," Nicoletta said as she raised her glass at Jury and took a sip. "Let's just say that as the black sheep of the family, I was looking for a way to please everyone but myself. I mean, it wasn't all bad, but when the bad starts to outweigh the good after sixteen years, it's time to get the hell out. The real rub is that I never stopped being the black sheep."

"Well, you know what? The shackles are off now, darling, so congratulations," Jury said raising his beer in a toast. Delicately clinking her glass against Jury's bottle, Nicoletta tossed its contents down her slender throat, a pair of dangling silver earrings sparkling gaily.

"You're a good looking man, Jury," Nicoletta started as the older biker gestured to the bartender for another round of drinks. "You have a healthy business going here. You ever been hitched?"

"Twice and it didn't like me both times. I finally learned my lesson and decided to stay single. It's way more fun for this old biker anyway."

"I hear that. No sense in looking back, though, wishing that I had never gotten married, right? Now that the State of Nevada has freed me from a life sentence, I thought I'd celebrate by slumming . . ." Nicoletta trailed off softly and winced. "I'm sorry, Jury. I didn't mean it quite that way. The vodka tonics must be getting to me. You have a really nice place here," she offered sweetly only to have her bare shoulder squeezed gently.

"Don't worry about it, honey. You ain't hurting my feelings none. This is slumming at its finest. It's the reason your ass landed here in the first place and why you came back to celebrate a big moment in your life," Jury assured her. "I'm just sorry you haven't found suitable company amongst my customers. Have you checked out my crew? We have some brothers visiting from several out of state charters here tonight and I know for a fact that they've been checking you out all night."

"I noticed," she admitted sheepishly. "A couple even introduced themselves, but I'm just not feeling it. It's a shame too. I seriously came prepared tonight to let my freak flag fly with the first man to walk through that door that made my lady parts tingle, but it looks like it's a bust tonight. Maybe I should have just hit one of those strip clubs back home," she grinned sardonically as Jury started to chuckle. "Right now I could be sticking some dollar bills down the G-string of some guy rocking a really huge dick."

The biker shrugged his shoulders. "Sorry, darling, I only got the female variety around here. Unless," he said meaningfully, only to watch her shake her head.

"I can appreciate a beautiful woman as much as anyone," Nicoletta started, "but when it comes to having shit jiggled in my face, I'm strictly dickly."

"Well," Jury started as he tried to come up with something. Pausing as the door to the Club opened, a wicked grin stretched across his features. "I think I just found the biker for ya," he stated emphatically and nodded towards the entrance.

 _Not likely_ , Nicoletta thought somewhat dejectedly. Turning her head towards the entrance, her eyes widened as did the barely perceptible smile on her face as she spotted the shadowy figure making his way inside.

_Well, well, and well!_

The first word to cross her mind was "rugged". Not a pretty boy at all, but nonetheless extremely handsome. Skin the color of light caramel molded tightly over high cheekbones and nearly-black piercing eyes that could burn a hole through a woman. Set below a regal nose with a slight bent that hinted at being broken once or twice was a pair of sinfully sensual lips. The darkening bruise on his chin and shaven head sporting an intricately-detailed snake tattoo only added to his dangerous appeal.

Feeling a quickening in her breast the closer he got to the bar, Nicoletta put the glass she was holding down. _Tall_ , she thought as the crowd seemed to naturally part for the biker, almost as if they were afraid to breath in the menacing air around him. Starting at the tip of his polished-to-a-mirror-shine black boots, she let her eyes lazily travel up his long, muscled legs encased in dark jeans which were snug around the crotch and called attention to the obvious heat he was packing. The jeans were held in place on his lean hips by a leather belt with a huge buckle that read "SAMCRO" and underneath the leather kutte he wore a skin-tight white t-shirt that showed off every well-defined pec and muscled ab on his lean, long torso. The man was the epitome of biker hotness personified and she felt a slight shiver run down her back.

_Now this is what I'm talking about!_

"So, what do ya think?" Jury asked quietly as he noted his companion's enraptured attention as she avidly perused his brother, and she was far from the only woman in the crowd to be doing so.

"You've been holding out on me, Jury," she murmured. "Where have you been hiding _this_ one?"

Jury chuckled. "I take it an introduction might be the order of the day?"

Regaining her composure, the woman shrugged a slender shoulder. "Why not?" she replied nonchalantly. "Things just got a lot more interesting around here."

Jury grinned and stood up, gesturing to the man who had paused to greet a group of his brothers. "Hap, c'mon over here. I want you to meet someone."

* * *

Having spent the morning sleeping in after a wild night with the sexually adventurous Daytona, Happy had enjoyed a huge breakfast prepared for him by a sweetbutt before taking off on a long solo ride into the Nevada desert. He spent a good amount of the time putting miles on his bike thinking about all the shit he had left behind in Charming. The piercing blue and cloudless sky with the picturesque and hot dessert as a scenic backdrop made the ride surprisingly enjoyable, relaxing the outlaw enough for him to reexamine his feelings about the current situation involving Marlowe with a fairly reasonable eye.

His conversation with Jury the night before had gone a long way in giving him perspective and clarity. Happy begrudgingly realized that it shouldn't have taken a brother from another charter to remind him that Jax Teller would do anything for his family, brothers and Club. A man with that kind of love and resolve to do whatever was necessary for the people he loved was made of some strong shit.

Happy had basically watched the SAMCRO Pres grow up. Aside from the MC, it was clear that his mother Gemma had been his greatest influence, making Jax into the kind of man who had great love and respect for the fairer sex. It was slowly dawning on Happy that characterizing what he had with Marlowe as the closest thing to being her old man meant it was unlikely that Jax considered his sister "just pussy". Besides, he should have had enough faith in his mother's upbringing of Marlowe to know that the young woman would not tolerate being treated as such, no matter how pretty Teller was.

One thing Happy was sure about was that whatever Jax had planned for Marlowe, he was going to have his work cut out for him. Marlowe, a career sailor, wasn't like ordinary women who would think nothing of settling down to play house. Happy knew her well enough to know that she had relationship issues and he couldn't imagine her being so inclined to commit herself to being anyone's "biker bitch", never mind taking on the full load of being Jax's old lady. Stranger things have happened, however, as the last thing Happy had expected was that Marlowe would end up a part of his dysfunctional biker family.

Still, in spite of his newly-found insight, the fact that he and Jax would have to have a healing of sorts, more than likely in the ring, weighed heavily on his mind as Happy pulled up to the Indian Hills Clubhouse well after sunset. But, even though he had come to Nevada to put distance between himself and Charming while he thought shit through, Happy had no intention of dwelling on his problems in lieu of having a good time. Tabling his shit for the time being, Happy parked his bike and headed towards the Clubhouse. Maybe he'd find Jury still feeling generous enough to comp him Daytona for the night again. He wouldn't mind having the bitch ride his dick a few more times before his weekend was over.

Entering the Club, Happy spotted Jury sitting at the bar, and he wasn't alone. His eyes were immediately drawn to the petite woman keeping the old man company. With growing interest, Happy noted that she was boldly staring him down.

 _Sexy as hell_ , was Happy's first thought, his eyes slowly moving from the top of her gleaming waves of dark brown hair down to her small feet encased in four-inch strappy silver sandals. She was wearing a figure-hugging white sheath bandage dress that dipped low to reveal the top of creamy D-cup sized breasts. It hugged her every feminine curve, stretching across her small, narrow waist and flat tummy and over hips made for grabbing while fucking, and stopped just above her knees. Every inch of exposed skin looked smooth to the touch and had a healthy golden glow to it. Happy didn't know (and didn't care to know) shit about women's clothes, but even he could tell that everything about the bitch screamed top of the line.

None of those things were of any interest to him, however, once he focused on her pretty heart-shaped face. Eyes as blue as the deep ocean stared back at him from underneath perfectly arched eyebrows and her generous mouth was set in a deceptively sedate smile she was aiming at him.

"It's about time you showed up. The party was starting to heat up without you."

"Yeah, I could tell from at least a ¼ mile back," Happy replied as the woman raised her drink up to her lips. He watched avidly as she parted them and lowered her eyes as she spotted a teardrop of condensation that had formed on the glass as it started to trail down the side. He practically stared without breathing as her little pink tongue darted out to catch it before it could run down the glass and onto her expensive-looking white dress. In that instant, Happy felt his dick twitch and get semi-hard. Raising her eyes back to his, she wasn't startled as she noted the predatory gleam in his dark eyes. Instead, she gave him the slightest wink and suddenly his jeans shrunk a couple of sizes thanks to his full-on erection.

 _Forget Daytona_ , Happy thought as he completely ignored Jury to continue staring into the depths of the bluest eyes he had ever seen.

"You gonna stare at me all night, girlie?" he asked a little gruffly.

The woman shrugged a dainty shoulder. "Why not? _Maybe_ I like what I see," the woman replied archly, her voice husky. "Aren't you going to introduce us, Jury?"

Jury pressed back a snort as his eyes darted from one to the other noting that neither had yet to break eye contact. "Absolutely, darling. This fine man is Happy, a brother visiting us here from our mother charter."

"Hmm, I'm not sure he really looks all that happy to be here," she said as she eyed the bald biker.

Jury chuckled. "No, sugar, not happy as in he _looks_ happy. His name _is_ Happy." Jury watched as one perfect eyebrow arched towards her hair line before he turned to his brother. "And this," Jury started, but stopped and turned to face Nicoletta again. "You know, it's funny that you've been around here a few times and I don't think I've ever caught your name, honey."

"You might be right about that," she replied, her eyes never leaving Happy's. "Just call me . . . Mercedes," she continued.

"I'm guessing that's the cage you drive and not your real name," Happy spoke up, his voice raspy.

"What makes you say that? It's as real as any name around here, _Happy_ ," she smiled widely. "Or is that on your birth certificate?" She ignored the muffled laughter coming from Jury.

"Point taken," Happy conceded.

"Okay, now that we're on first name basis, let me buy you a drink," Nicoletta offered.

Happy placed a hand on the bar and pulled his body into her personal space and close enough to take in the sweet scent of the exotic perfume she wore. "I buy my own drinks."

Unfazed, Nicoletta looked up into his dark eyes and grinned. "Don't tell me. You're too much of a man to let a woman buy you a drink."

"I'm _all_ man, girlie."

Realizing that his male bravado was natural born and not something he slipped into like his kutte made her grin even more. "Well, in that case, _you_ can buy me a drink. You see, I'm _all_ woman."

Pausing for all of ten seconds, Happy waved an imperious finger at the bartender, never taking his eyes off of her. "Whatever she's having and a beer for me."

"Well," Jury said clearing his throat loudly, "now that I've made proper introductions, I'll get back to mingling with the rest of my guests. Why don't you two go make yourselves comfortable on my own personal sofa over there and get to know each other?"

"Sounds like a plan," Nicoletta said, slipping off her bar stool. Taking the proffered drink from the bartender, she headed over to the reserved couch without a backwards glance, apparently confident that she was being followed.

Watching her perky backside sway pleasantly underneath the skin-tight material of her dress, Happy grinned.

 _Looks like I'll be chowing down on some high-end pussy tonight_ , he thought as he grabbed his beer and went to settle down besides her.

"So let me guess," Nicoletta drawled as she crossed a leg over her knee. Displaying a fair amount of creamy skin to her companion, she grinned inwardly as she watched Happy's dark brown eyes focus on her legs before making their way back to her face. "You're one of those old school bikers who believes that women exist for one sole purpose," she said before taking a sip of her drink.

"I don't know of any other kind, lady," Happy replied as he tilted the bottle up to take a couple of swallows of his beer. "And women exist for _two_ reasons: sucking dick and fetching me a beer after."

Instead of making a run for the door, Happy got an unexpected response as Nicoletta threw her head back and laughed prettily. "Well, I guess that counts as buying you a drink, right? The last time I checked it was 2010. We women have come a long way, you know," she teased.

"I don't give a fuck what year it is," came his terse reply as he stared into her eyes. " _I_ run my own shit."

Suddenly serious, Nicoletta straightened and put a hand on her hip. "And you actually believe that women like men with a little Neanderthal left in them, don't you?"

"You're still sitting here, aren't ya?" Happy asked with an arched eyebrow. "If you wanted a pussy of a man you could buy drinks for and wear on your arm like a piece of jewelry, you wouldn't have trekked your ass out here trolling for something different. A _real_ man."

 _Well shit_ , Nicoletta thought with amusement, _he's got me there_.

"So let's say you're right, Happy," she said as she took another sip of her drink. "There are plenty of men here that fit that bill. Why should I fuck you?" She asked candidly and watched as he shrugged his broad shoulders.

"You're asking the wrong question," he replied as he finished his beer. Setting the bottle down on the low coffee table in front of them, Happy stood up.

"So what should I be asking?" she countered, her eyes firmly fixed on his.

"Why wouldn't you fuck me when you know you want to?" he shot back. "So what's it gonna be, girlie? Time's wasting."

Nicoletta stared up at him for about a heartbeat. Draining her drink dry, she slammed the glass on the table. "After you, Killer," she said quietly and watched as the biker gave her a hard predatory smile before grabbing her hand and dragging her towards the back of the Clubhouse.

* * *

 _I must be out of my damn mind,_ Nicoletta thought, meekly following the biker as he dragged her off to only God knew where. As they rounded the corner to a long corridor of what were undoubtedly private rooms, she inwardly sighed with relief. _Thank God! At least he's not going to take me up against a wall—although that would be wickedly hot._

Coming to the end of the hall, she watched as he pulled a key out of his pocket and opened the door. Standing in front of it, Nicoletta bemoaned the fact that she was so damn short even in heels as she could barely see around his large frame to the large bed within.

"Last chance to change your mind, tiny bitch," Happy said casually. "You cross that threshold, all bets are off." He watched as she sighed and crossed her arms over her chest.

"Maybe you forgot, but my name is _Mercedes_."

"No it's not," Happy grinned ferociously. "Who would saddle a tiny bitch like you with such a pretentious name like that?"

Nicoletta put a hand on an indignantly cocked hip. "I was named after my mother who died while giving birth to me."

Happy's eyes narrowed as he suddenly felt like an ass. "Really?"

The hurt on Nicoletta's face melted, giving way to a big, gleaming smile. "Nah," she said, her nose wrinkling delicately. "I lied."

Happy growled menacingly. "Tiny bitch it is then. So . . . you coming in or what?"

Nicoletta bit her plump bottom lip and watched as the biker's eyes darkened even further, becoming blacker than she thought possible.

_Hell's yeah I'm coming in._

Nudging him aside, Nicoletta walked into the room and did not look back as she heard the door close. Normally, she would have some interest in the décor of her surroundings but at that moment, she couldn't give a damn. She had to pee! Spying a closed door on the other side of the room, Nicoletta barely took half a step towards it hoping to find a bathroom when Happy gripped her waist and spun her around.

No sooner had the impact with his body forced the air from her lungs than he closed his mouth over hers. Her eyes opened wide in surprise but his lips were wonderful and warm, meshing perfectly with hers. They were insistent, but reassuring as he communicated his intentions with absolute clarity. His tongue touched her lips and she opened her mouth without hesitation.

Nicoletta's mind was racing. _So this is it_ , she thought. After dedicating almost half of her life to one man, she was now a single, working mother in her mid-thirties. After so many years of sharing her bed with only one man, a liar and a cheater to boot, she was about to take the plunge into the reality of life after divorce by having a one night stand with an outlaw biker. Even if no one ever learned of her dirty little tryst, things would never be the same again.

_Because nothing_ _ ever _ _stays the same._

"Mmm . . . Happy, wait." She broke their kiss and stared into the dark, questioning eyes that beamed back at her.

Suddenly, Nicoletta grabbed his face with both hands and sealed her lips to his again. She didn't want things to be the same. She loved the way his dark stubble scratched her skin, the faint taste of beer on his breath and the pure male feel of his lean muscle. Arousal spread through her veins like a drug.

 _How could any sane person not want this?_ She wondered.

Now Happy's hands were all over her back and buttocks, diving between her cheeks through the material of her dress and grinding her mound against him. Happy was intent on having her and she was dying to be taken.

Her entire body lit up with goose bumps when she felt a tug between her shoulders and heard the sound of a zipper.

"Happy . . ."

Things were happening fast, faster than she had expected. Thirty-five she may be, but she suddenly felt young and inexperienced in his arms. When her dress pooled at her feet, the dress that should have been turning middle-aged heads at some upscale cocktail party back home, she became short of breath.

"Turn around," Happy ordered, nudging her hips and she readily complied.

He squeezed a breast through the warm satin cup of her white bra and pulled back her hair. She tilted her head to surrender her smooth neck to the warmth of his breath, his licks, and gentle bites. His mouth found hers again as he closed a hand around her slender throat. All of a sudden, Nicoletta realized how much she missed kissing.

 _The real thing_ , she thought, _the kind that_ _makes_ _you lose track of time and_ _chaps_ _your lips for days_.

Nicoletta was down to her bra and panties when Happy spread his long legs to lower himself and that's when she felt it. She arched the small of her back and pushed her bottom against the prominent lump in his jeans. She began to roll her hips and shoulders in an instinctive, lewd dance as Happy slid a hand down her belly and between her legs. The flat of two fingers pushed and kneaded her folds through the delicate fabric of her panties.

Their tongues explored each other as Nicoletta let her weight fall against him. She felt his fingers slide beneath the elastic above her mound and whimpered into his mouth when they combed the soft tuft of hair on her newly-lasered and otherwise hair-free pussy. It had been so long since she had last been with a man and was slightly embarrassed by the sopping condition of her $200 a pair La Perla underwear, but widened her stance in spite of herself. A single finger ventured lower and massaged the slippery hood of her clit as Nicoletta ground the crack of her ass cheeks against his steel.

"God, you're fuckin' killing me," Happy groaned as her hands reached back to grasp his hips and firm sides of his buttocks.

"Mmmm . . . Hap-Happy," she panted. It took all of her willpower to grasp his hand still in her crotch and squirm around to face him. She looked into his eyes and nibbled her lip. "You'll be standing in a puddle soon if you don't let me go use the bathroom."

Happy lifted his chin toward what she was sure was a poor excuse for a bathroom. "Go ahead."

Turning on her high-heeled feet, Nicoletta swore she could feel his eyes on her ass as she scurried across the floor. Opening the door, Nicoletta stole a glance back. Happy had removed his kutte, which he had folded neatly before placing it on a chair along with his holster. Now with his hands crossed in front of him, he grabbed the hem of his white t-shirt and pulled it over his head.

"Don't get lost in there, tiny bitch," said the gravelly voice from inside the all-cotton cocoon.

* * *

Happy was waiting, standing shirtless and leaning against the dresser smoking a cigarette when Nicoletta re-entered the room. After taking care of business and giving herself a confidence-building pep talk in the bathroom, she now strutted confidently over to a chair holding Happy's kutte and held onto it as she quickly undid the straps of her heels.

Happy smirked when she kicked off her four-inch heels, reducing her height to what was probably no more than 5'4. "Damn, you _are_ a tiny thing," he muttered out loud.

Turning around to face him, Nicoletta smiled wickedly. "I hope _you_ aren't," she retorted smartly. She was somewhat sensitive about her diminutive stature as people had a tendency to underestimate her. "That would be a _real_ disappointment since I have such high hopes for tonight." She opened her silver clutch and, in one smooth motion, pulled out a long stream of extra-large Trojans and tossed them on the bed.

Happy smiled, although it was somewhat feral. "I guess you're lucky I decided to show up. Otherwise, good luck finding anybody out there to fit that shit."

"I guess I _am_ the lucky one," she replied, a little breathlessly. Smiling coyly, Nicoletta started walking towards the suddenly-still biker as he eyed her hungrily.

_Fuck!_

Happy was not a complicated man when it came to sex and he wasn't into all the frilly frou-frou shit some bitches found necessary to wear. Little did most know that he was definitely a clothing-optional kind of guy. However, the sight of tiny bitch in her barely-there white bra, the cups of which were overflowing with full creamy breasts, and matching panties had him standing at attention and fully erect.

"You like what you see, Killer?" she purred as she reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"I might," Happy managed to say as he settled his huge hands on her ass and grinned as her plump cheeks filled his hands adequately. "I might indeed."

Nicoletta swallowed hard as her dainty hands roamed over his taut, muscular body. Letting her fingers dance across his tattooed clavicle, she took note of the declaration to his family that he would kill and die for them. Looking up and meeting his smoldering glare, she smiled and nodded almost respectfully. His well-defined arms and torso were covered in colorful tattoos and she thought there was no way this man could get any sexier.

Stepping away, Nicoletta slowly walked backwards to the bed, beckoning Happy to follow with a crooked finger. Without a first, much less second thought, Happy silently obeyed. Drinking in his heavenly masculine body, her eyes narrowed as she spotted three rows of what appeared to be—

"Are those—?"

"Smiley faces," he acknowledged as she reached out a finger to trace over one of them, surprising Happy as he felt a sharp tingle of desire shoot through his body.

"This why they call you Happy?" she asked huskily, her chin resting on his chest as they looked into each other's faces, their mouths only inches apart.

"Maybe," he replied gruffly, "but I'm not here to talk about my fuckin' tattoos."

"No, I guess you're not," Nicoletta said as she reached in between them to unbuckle his belt. "You're here to fuck me," she taunted, sliding his jeans down over his long thoroughbred legs. Without warning, she shoved him onto the bed and knelt down before him. She grinned at the look of astonishment on his face. "I think we need to get rid of these first, don't you? You're a little overdressed for this party." Grabbing hold of one of his feet, she gave a hard tug on the boot, which immediately flew off and nearly landed her on her ass.

"Impatient aren't you, tiny bitch?"

"Horny as all get out and not interested in waiting all night for you to ride me hard," she replied tartly before grabbing the other boot and tugging it off. Making quick work of sliding off his jeans and socks, she tossed them over her shoulder and then stood up.

Happy stood up as well and Nicoletta's stomach tightened at the sight of his narrow hips and the dark trickle of hair that funneled down from his navel, over tight abs, and finally disappeared beneath the waistband of his boxers. Her eyes fell further to the wet spot spreading over the outline of the wide bulb sealed against the lightweight cotton, dramatically tenting his underwear.

His shoulders rose and stomach rippled as he pushed his underwear over his hips. She watched his soft, dark nest uncoil, popping free of the sliding elastic band. With a sly smile, Happy stopped, the thick root of his cock just barely exposed.

Her head snapped up to meet his gaze. "Are you fucking teasing me?" Her dry tongue tried vainly to moisten her lips. "You need to get those off . . . _now_."

Happy arched an eyebrow at her. She sounded like a woman that was used to getting her way. The corners of his mouth curled upward, setting off tiny charges inside Nicoletta's chest. All at once she could breathe again and she wanted him more than ever.

He resumed dragging down his boxers, baring a long, veined shaft until the elastic caught on the prominent ridge surrounding his glans. Suddenly, his dick sprung free, slapping at his navel and swaying in the air inches from his flat belly.

Although she knew that every penis was different, she couldn't take her eyes off of Happy's. In spite of her inexperience when she first got married, Nicoletta had always thought her ex-husband had a pretty one and judging from what her sisters and friends had hinted about their men, she hadn't too much to complain about when it came to dimensions.

This was . . . _different_.

"Your turn." Happy straightened up and kicked his boxers aside, never taking his eyes from her.

Nicoletta's heart was thundering. Undoing the front snaps of her bra, she let the straps fall from her shoulders before dropping her arms back and letting it land on the floor behind her. Happy's eyes widened. He loved big, natural tits and hers were damn near perfect. Coyly, she hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her underwear and gently nudged the damp panties down her legs. Letting them fall, she stepped one foot out and flicked them at his chest with the painted big toe of her other.

"There." She was pleased with the maneuver. "Jerk."

Happy snatched them out of the air and held them to his nose, making a show of it. But Nicoletta was more interested in the clear liquid leaking from his slit and spreading over the head of his penis. Large oval shapes shifted in his dangling sac as the loose skin of his scrotum began to thicken and contract. She stared at his cock, so straight and upright. She'd never seen one stand that way before.

Nicoletta was mesmerized by this transformation as his sleek and strong body prepared for the act of sex. She was both thrilled and anxious, knowing that she was the object of his lust.

"Get over here, tiny bitch." His voice was thick, barely above a whisper.

She felt a warm release and a screaming, empty ache between her legs at his demanding tone. Nicoletta closed the distance between them with two steps. He clapped a hand behind her neck and pulled her close, sliding his other hand over her mound.

"Tell me what you want."

"First," she started with a teasing glint in her eye. "I want you to stop calling me 'bitch'," she said as she slipped her hands between them and grasped his column, forcing Happy to inhale sharply. His skin felt so delicate and warm, yet the shaft was so impossibly hard and rigid. In her hands, his girth was more impressive than when she had caught her first glimpse of it. She thought about how it would feel pushing deep inside her and the glowing heat from inside her pussy told her that Happy's hand was covered with the thick liquid of her arousal. "Then, I want to suck your cock." She sunk down to her knees.

In all her years with her husband, she had never blown him this way. Those times she had taken him into her mouth, she would be stretched next to him on the bed while he stroked or licked her. As a lover, he had been attentive, but oral sex just wasn't something they frequently indulged in. He used to say that was what whores were for, not the mother of his son.

Now, here she was on her knees in an MC Clubhouse-slash-brothel about to service an outlaw biker thug she knew next to nothing about. Wet warmth trickled over her inner thighs in anticipation. She wanted Happy to fuck her mouth.

 _This_ _is what I've been missing in my life_ , she thought, _the raw expression of desire_.

She smiled up at the dark as pitch eyes that were burning down on her and let her hands lightly skim over his tummy and chest. Her manicured fingertips circled his nipples and she felt them harden. She beamed up at him when she heard him growl deep in his throat.

Nicoletta smoothed her hands over his hips and reached around to examine Happy's prominently muscled buttocks. Her curious fingers dove into the warm crease between his cheeks and squeezed the firm globes. She shivered, sensing the stored power in the round haunches.

Nicoletta's voice quivered. "You have a beautiful body, Happy."

Nicoletta bent at the waist and turned her head enough to suck one mouthwatering testicle past her lips. His heady, almost sour, male scent filled her nostrils, driving her nearly crazy with need. One hand meandered around his hips and found the meaty tip of his penis. Five fingertips surrounded it, stroking, pumping, and twisting the darkened organ.

"Ohhhhhh . . . fuck!" Happy grabbed the back of her head and started rolling his hips. "Fuck, don't stop, tiny bit—" he managed to hold onto his tongue out of fear that she would stop if he pissed her off. "Don't stop, Tiny."

Nicoletta curled her fingers around his shaft and dragged her wet tongue to the base of his cock, lingering there and sucking. Her lips traveled up his hard length, leaving a shiny trail of saliva behind.

"Jesus Christ," Happy moaned as he widened his stance and slid his pelvis forward with his shoulders tilted back.

 _Yummy_ , Nicoletta thought. She took long, slow licks of the heavy cock as she would a melting ice cream cone.

She felt his body stiffen and a hand grip her shoulder when she swirled her tongue around his hot, smooth glans. Nicoletta moved her fist up and down his shaft while fingers rolled and squeezed his balls. She loved the way the thin layer of skin moved with her grip over the hard bone beneath.

She was an educated woman; modern, capable, and—as much as she hated the word—liberated. But kneeling in front of the somewhat crude biker sucking on his cock, the act of pure submission tapped urges in her that were primitive and feral. Her desire was agonizing. She needed to be taken, now. To be brought down like prey and fucked hard.

Nicoletta glanced upward when she closed her lips over the head of his cock and began the long slide down his length. Happy's head was tilted back and his eyes were closed. Soft sounds warbled from his throat. She might mistake it for sleep, she mused, if it wasn't for the hand that pressed at the back of her head or the fingers that had found her nipple.

Happy's hips rocked to the steady motion of her head. Nicoletta gripped the base of his cock as she slid her mouth up and down the rippled member. She took him to the back of her throat, opening wide to accommodate him, and then pulled her wet lips over him, zigzagging her tongue along the underside of his shaft.

She began to drift away on a sensory carpet ride—his taste, his smell, the song of their moans accompanied by watery slurps and sucking sounds. She was lost in the power of the urgent cock that now plunged into her mouth and the electric current running from the fingers twisting her nipple down to her dripping, but empty cunt.

"Unngh . . . I'm gonna cum." Happy coiled a handful of dark hair around his fist. She grabbed his ass with both hands, feeling his powerful muscles ripple with every thrust. "Oh, shit . . . ahhh . . ."

Then, his penis suddenly leaped out of her mouth with a pop.

"Wuh . . . what?" Happy gasped, dazed by the lack of blood flow to his brain as she pulled back before he had the chance to come.

Nicoletta wiped the back of her hand across her lips and got to her feet, saliva running over her chin. She looked around the floor and bent over to retrieve her dress. "I need to get going now but this has been nice. Truly."

A shriek pierced the room as Nicoletta was launched into the atmosphere, her dress fluttering overhead like a parachute. She squealed with laughter as her reentry bounced her backside onto the bed.

Happy was on her before she could sit up. "Okay, Tiny, have it your way. I'm done being Mr. Nice Guy." He hovered over her with his hands and knees caging her wriggling body. "I'll just give you the fuck of your life and pat you on your ass before sending you back home. How's that sound?"

"Hmm . . . the fuck of my life, huh? You'd have to last longer than two minutes to impress me, Killer," Nicoletta said with a smirk. "After all, I'm not one of those young biker groupies you're used to who probably don't know any better . . . yet."

Happy lowered himself and put his lips to her ear. "We'll see how mouthy you are when I slide this up your ass." He held his cock by its base and drummed it on her belly.

The color drained from Nicoletta's face. "Happy, I-I don't . . . I never . . ."

"Tonight you do . . . you will, _bitch_." He grabbed her wrists and pinned them over her head. He leaned in for a long, surprisingly tender kiss before he said, "But because I know you're sweet on me, I'll take it slow and make it so you'll never want me to stop. I promise."

 _There he goes again_ , she thought. That fucking sexy voice, those eyes, and oh my god, that irresistible cock . . . no woman would question what she was doing if they could only experience this moment. She knew she was leaking freely now, and the need to have him inside her—anywhere inside her—was overwhelming.

"Do whatever you want to me, Happy." She was shocked at her own words but knew that she meant each one wholeheartedly.

Happy kissed her again. _God, he's an amazing kisser for such a rough man_ , she thought. He freed her arms and crawled backward over her to settle between her legs.

"You're so fuckin' wet," Happy growled, the sight of her moist, pink pussy awakening a ravenous hunger in him. "I'm gonna have to taste you first."

Nicoletta's knees spread outward of their own accord, offering her sex to him. She watched him dip between her legs and felt his warm breath across her wet, delicate skin. He lingered there, she could tell, taking in her scent.

He licked the moisture collected on the curve of her thighs and slid his hands beneath her bottom to raise it from the bed. Nicoletta groaned when he dragged the tip of his tongue up her glistening channel to collect her liquid sex and wash across her clit. Tiny eruptions vibrated deep inside her when he sucked the engorged nub between his lips and flicked his tongue across its nearly-vibrating tip.

She arched her back. "Christ!"

His lips and tongue continued to torture her, applying enough friction and heat to keep her at the peak of arousal. He seemed to know when to back off each time she was ready to trip over the edge. Frustrated, she tried to push her fingers past his mouth to give herself relief but he slapped her hands away.

"God . . . please, Happy. What are you doing to me?"

"C'mere, baby."

The bed covers bunched beneath her cheeks as Happy dragged her with him to the corner of the bed. She was too mesmerized by the way Happy's cock stood so immovably rigid despite his movements to wonder what he was up to. The attentions of his mouth had left her pussy begging to be filled.

Nicoletta could hear the muffled sound of classic rock bleed through the wall behind her head. She drank in the sight of Happy standing over her with one knee on the bed as he expertly rolled on a condom. Nicoletta raised a foot, rubbing his smooth chest with her toes. Taking her foot in hand and, after placing some warm kisses along her arch, rested it on his shoulder. A tender nudge was all Nicoletta needed to spread her other leg wide

 _This is it_ , she thought. After sixteen years of marriage, she was about to have a man inside her who wasn't her husband. Her pussy would know the shape and dimensions of another man's cock and learn the unique rhythms of his body. The wheel was turning and things would never be the same after this.

_Because nothing_ _ ever _ _stays the same._

Happy grasped his cock near its base and lowered it toward her pussy. The sight of his large, calloused hand slowly stroking the thick shaft was almost too much for her. She tensed when he leaned forward and brought the rigid wedge to the delicate pink petals covering her entrance. He began to slide it up and down, collecting her slick juice and nudging her clitoris. His half-hooded eyes, darker now, almost black, swept over her writhing body.

"Shit, I want you so fuckin' bad." Centering his cock, Happy pressed forward.

"I . . . I whuhhh . . ." Her mouth flew open and her abs tightened with a sharp intake of air as his unyielding cock pushed past her pliable ring and plowed into her with one excruciating stroke. She dropped her foot from his shoulder and spread her knees as wide as she could. "Ohhh . . . Holy fuck!"

"You okay, Tiny?" Happy pushed down on the back of her splayed thighs and drew back his lean hips.

She nodded. "Mmm-hmm," she managed even though for a moment she hadn't been so sure. Her vagina had just been stretched beyond anything in her experience and now the unyielding tool plunged through her again. Happy gave her no time to catch her breath. She had the fleeting sensation of being drowned as he filled her with his long, rhythmic strokes.

Nicoletta observed the rise and fall of his chest and studied the concentration on his face. She followed his eyes between her legs and watched his nectar-covered cock piston in and out of her body. She forced her lungs to breath in time with his thrusts, still not quite believing this was real.

Nicoletta gripped his forearms and felt their strength. She knew she was completely in his control, a prisoner of his urges. He would fuck her as he wished tonight and later slide his beefy dick into her virgin ass. He told her he would and she knew he meant it. The idea frightened and made her crazy with desire all at once.

"Oh, yes," she breathed. "Fuck me, yes!" God, how long has it been since her body has been subjected to such intense pleasure?

Happy blinked at her, as if surprised by the sound of her voice. His narrowed eyes burned with intensity as he reached under her ass and hooked his hands where her legs and torso met. He raised her hips, forcing her back to bow off the bed.

Happy growled as he fucked her harder, her breasts shaking with each thrust. He was raking the walls deep inside her, the new angle and his size working together to massage her G-spot, making it swell and pulse. Somewhere deep inside, her orgasm started to build like a faraway drumbeat.

Nicoletta saw the twitch at the corner of his mouth that told her something was about to happen. She yelped when he swept an arm beneath the small of her back and pulled her up against him. In an instant he was standing and she was sealed to his chest, legs wrapped around his hips.

His mouth fused itself to the hollow of her throat, licking and biting the tender skin below her ear as his hands held onto her ass cheeks and slid her up and down his upright pole. Happy impaled her again and again, expanding her pussy and lighting up new nerve endings. What had begun as tiny spasms now pulsed over Happy's cock as shattering contractions. Nicoletta felt her body begin to buck and the muscles of her arms and legs convulsed around him. The pressure that had been building inside her now exploded, sending waves of heat and pleasure to wrack her frame.

Her head dropped back and the room began to fall away as she came for the first time as a single woman.

* * *

_**Sunday, July 25, 2010** _

As the powerful Nevada sun filtered through the window blinds, its rays made their way to the occupant lying sprawled out and naked on the bed. Rubbing his eyes with a large hand, Happy winced as the intrusive light roused him from a long and restful sleep.

"Shit," he muttered. "It's too early for the fuckin' sun," he continued rolling over to eye his companion.

Only problem was, instead of the tiny, but feisty package of dynamite he expected to find, there was only an empty space in the bed next to him.

"Fuck me," Happy groused as the thought slowly penetrated his bleary brain that he was by himself and, unless he completely misunderstood his surroundings, the only occupant in the room.

Sitting up, Happy scanned the room, noting that the bathroom was empty and the handbag, white dress, heels and sinfully brief undergarments tossed around the room last night were gone. If Happy was right, and he knew that he was, this was the first time that _he_ had been left to wake up alone after a one-night stand and it pissed him off royally.

 _Tiny_ _b_ _itch had the last word after all_ , he thought ruefully before he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. _Not only_ _i_ _s Tiny a freak in the sack, but looks like she's a neat freak too_ , he thought as he noted that not only his kutte, but all of his clothing were neatly folded on the chair with his boots, belt _and_ fuckin' gun holster. It looked like she had also gone around the room picking up the wadded up balls of tissue containing the condoms they had used the night before and tossed them out.

 _Six condoms_ , Happy thought with a wide and satisfied grin. _For a little thing, she sure has some staying power. Must have been a while for her_ , he reasoned. _Or whoever she's banging can't lay pipe worth shit._

Making his way into the shower, Happy ran a hot stream of water over his body. Dismissing his one-night lover from his mind, he thought about heading back to Charming and what he would find when he got there as he scrubbed his body.

As much as Happy wanted to discount Jax's interference, he had to agree that he was probably right. Marlowe was a tough bitch, but even he knew that she wasn't indestructible. Finding out about Kozik had kicked him in the ass. He could only imagine what she was going through, but he couldn't let that shit fester. Deciding to extend his stay by another day or two was Happy's way of giving Marlowe time to get her shit together.

 _When I get back home, we're gonna hash this shit out_ , he thought as the water coursed over his body. _Last time it took ten years for us to work our shit out._ _This time, she's got ten minutes upon seeing my ass to drop shit on me._

Stepping out of the shower, Happy dried himself off and put on a fresh set of clothes. As for his Pres, they were going to have to have a real "healing." Now that shit blew up between them, it was up to them to work this shit out. Talking was never one of his strong suit, but Happy figured that he was going to have to step back into the role of counselor/listener that he had taken up for Jax after the truth about his old lady Tara had surfaced.

 _And I better like what I hear_ , Happy thought as he strapped on his sidearm and kutte.

Opening the door, Happy closed it behind him and headed towards the main room in search of two things—a hearty meal and Jury's ear. If anyone knew anything about his one night stand, it would be him.


	41. Chapter 41

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sons of Anarchy. I do, however, own Marlowe and any other OCs that appear in the 2 Sons Universe.**

* * *

_**Saturday, July 24, 2010** _

Marlowe smiled wistfully as she listened to Abel sweetly babbling to his father in the background. Standing in Jax Teller's kitchen on this Saturday morning making breakfast was the last place in the world she had expected to find herself.

 _Yet I can't think of any other place I'd rather be right now_ , Marlowe thought as she cracked a fourth egg into the bowl in front of her before picking up the whisk to beat its contents.

It was a bright and beautiful morning as the sun poured in through the window that faced the kitchen table and onto its two occupants. Looking over her shoulder, Marlowe watched with something akin to fascination as Jax spooned not-too-hot oatmeal into Abel's eager mouth as the little boy ran a toy car back and forth on his high chair's tray table. It was amazing to her how much father and son resembled each other, both physically and in temperament. At the moment, Abel especially looked like a tiny replica of Jax, both with their freshly-washed, slicked-back hair, matching white t-shirts and bare feet, Jax in his boxers and Abel a fresh diaper.

Turning back to the stove, Marlowe bit her lip as she felt her heart clench in her chest. Had she been able to stupidly and stubbornly have her way, she would have been back in Bakersfield by now, probably kicking herself for leaving Charming and everyone she loved behind. Thankfully, Jax seemed to have other plans in mind for her.

Thinking she could let herself have one last time in Jax's bed before leaving town, Marlowe had not been expecting any declarations of love between them. It had taken the outlaw dropping the "L-word" on her to change her perspective. The look in his expressive blue eyes when she had announced her intention of leaving Charming had almost been enough for her to change her mind. But it had been Jax's determination to hold onto what they had that had finally forced Marlowe to acknowledge her own feelings for him.

Later on, snuggled down once again in Jax's arms, Marlowe recalled just how good it had felt to be with Jax and Abel in their home. Those warm feelings just reinforced how grateful she was to have a relationship once again with Happy and how his SAMCRO brothers and their families had embraced her into the fold. Leaving Charming meant giving all that up and it wasn't much of a shock to realize that she didn't want to. She wasn't a coward and in spite of the horrible memories that had been dredged up after discovering certain things about her life, she knew she had much more to gain than ever by staying and working shit out.

Jax had awoken first, gently coaxing her out of her slumber with his hands and his lips. After they had lazily but lustfully made love once again, Jax had outlined exactly what he wanted from her. Having never been in a committed relationship before, Marlowe had to pull back on her fight-or-flight instinct before she made a run for the hills. Jax must have sensed her panic because he promised that she would be the one setting the pace. He wasn't out for the whole kit and caboodle all at once, but he wanted her to know what his intentions were and that they involved creating a new life for themselves together.

Before Marlowe could respond, however, Abel had decided to make the fact that he was wide awake known. After a quick shower—one where Abel was a wide-eyed and giggling participant as the three of them did their part to conserve water by showering together—Marlowe had thrown on a clean pair of Jax's boxers, which she altered to fit with a safety pin, and a wife-beater t-shirt before heading to the kitchen on the hunt for something edible for breakfast.

Although Happy would state otherwise, Marlowe was quite an accomplished cook. After all, she had Amelia as an amazing teacher and even though it wasn't something she did all the time, she did enjoy it. Spending most of her Naval career on ships and the frontline, Marlowe had shared one or two apartments with roommates she hadn't known well enough to cook for and ate most of her meals at the chow hall. In spite of her limited amount of time in the kitchen throughout the years, Marlowe had managed to hang onto the basics and according to Amelia, that and a little imagination was all that was really needed to make a good meal.

Jax's kitchen wasn't overly large but it was efficient and had everything she needed to make a simple breakfast of scrambled eggs with cheese, onions and peppers, bacon, sausage and toast. Placing a couple of heaping plates onto the table, Marlowe refilled Jax's coffee mug as he grinned appreciatively at her.

"Mmm, smells great, babe."

"I'm sure that's just your stomach talking," she quipped as Jax pulled her in for a quick kiss before she sat down next to him. With Jax at the head of the table, Marlowe took the seat across from Abel, whose high chair was to Jax's right. Looking from Jax to Abel, Marlowe had to admit that they did make a cozy family portrait, making her wish she had her sketchbook.

 _Family_ , she wondered to herself as feelings of warmth coursed through her belly and straight to her toes. _This is what he wants from me, but am I capable of giving it to him and Abel?_

"Mmm, mmm, egg!" Abel said, pointing to Marlowe's plate with a pair of bright eyes.

"You want some, baby?" she asked as he nodded vigorously.

Jax grinned as she forked up a small bite and offered it to his son. Abel responded with a wide open mouth and chortled happily as he smacked his lips after swallowing the eggs. "I guess it's safe for me to dig in now that Abel acted as guinea pig," he teased with a wink and a smile at Marlowe.

"Asshole," she smirked at him as she forked up a bite for herself.

The trio certainly painted a very pretty picture of a blissful and happy family. At least that was what Gemma thought to herself as she peered into the kitchen through the window on the backdoor that faced the table. Without bothering to knock, the SAMCRO matriarch opened the door and cocked her hip against the doorframe as three surprised faces whipped around in her direction.

"That looks yummy," Gemma said cheerfully. "Any left for me?"

* * *

"Gamma!" Abel squealed excitedly, startling his frozen companions.

"Hey, baby boy," Gemma cooed. Slamming the door closed behind her, she dropped her handbag and a large paper bag on the kitchen counter. Picking up her grandson, she peppered his face and neck with kisses, causing Abel a fit of giggles before turning her attention to Jax and Marlowe. Noting their damp hair and matching wardrobe of wife-beater t-shirts and boxer shorts, a knowing look sparked in Gemma's eyes and it took everything for her not to do a dance around the room with her grandson in her arms.

_A sleepover followed by a shower together and a hearty breakfast. Now we're cooking with gas!_

Gemma had been hoping to see some progress in this relationship between her son and Happy's sister. Realizing that one way to move it along in one direction or another was to introduce Abel into the equation, she had taken it upon herself to throw her grandson and Marlowe together. As predicted, even with her limited to zero knowledge regarding children, Marlowe had handled the situation like a pro, walking away with another Teller man to add to her list of smitten admirers.

Unfortunately, Gemma had not witnessed any further interactions to gauge whether progress was being made. Considering that Abel was still adjusting to Tara's absence, Gemma could understand why Jax was taking it slow, but an abundance of time was something he was lacking at the moment. Gemma knew that Amelia Lowman would soon be heading back to Bakersfield and that Marlowe was expected to return with her. She had hoped that the situation involving Kozik and his possible paternity of Marlowe would buy her some time, but Clay had called off her efforts to dig up information on Marlowe's family background. As intrigued as she was about the possible connection between Kozik and Marlowe, she was more concerned with finding a way to keep Marlowe around.

Judging by the little scene before her, however, it looked like Jax was working on beating her to the punch.

"Looks like somebody had a slumber party," Gemma coyly said to her grandson as she bounced him in her arms. "Did you like having Arlo spend the night with you, baby?" she asked and Abel grinned as he nodded vigorously.

"Arlo read stories," he replied. Turning to face Marlowe, Abel reached out to her. "Go with Arlo, peas."

Not wanting to leave him hanging, Marlowe stood up and scooped the toddler into her arms, rolling her eyes at the questioning look on Gemma's face. Although the two of them got along just fine, there was no way Marlowe was sticking around for the Inquisition. She and Jax still had plenty to discuss themselves and even though she was committed to following his lead while setting her own pace, Marlowe wasn't ready to answer prying questions about this new turn in their relationship.

_Let Jax take one for the team by dealing with his mother!_

"Baby, I think Abel's wet. I'll go change him," she said to Jax, lying with a straight face and he knew it too.

 _Can't say I blame her_ , Jax thought a little disgruntled about his mother's sense of bad timing.

"There's a fresh pot of coffee on the counter, Gem," Marlowe offered as she headed towards the bedrooms. "I'll catch you later."

_Please, dear God, let it be much, much later._

Gemma crossed her arms over her chest and eyed her son, taking note of the bruises on his face. "What the hell happened to you? Doc like it rough?"

"Ha, ha," Jax smirked. "Why are you here, Ma?"

"I'm sure you got some pussy last night, Jackson, maybe even this morning too, so why so pissy?" Gemma retorted. Jax just stared, waiting for her to answer his question. Gemma sighed dramatically. "Well, had I known you and Abel had 'company' I wouldn't have bothered going out of my way to bring you some of Bobby's blueberry muffins for breakfast."

"That's a pretty lame excuse," Jax replied sardonically as he crossed his arms over his chest. "I expect better from you, Mom."

Gemma cocked an eyebrow at her son. "Since when do I need an excuse, lame or otherwise to see my two favorite Teller men?"

"You don't. You see us everyday," Jax replied. "Just not this early on a Saturday."

"I'm bored with this conversation," Gemma said, waving a dismissive hand. "Tell me about you and Marlowe instead," she commanded as she sat down next to Jax. Picking up his fork, she stabbed at the eggs on his plate and put the forkful in her mouth. "Mmm, these are tasty. It's good to know she can feed you as well as sex you up. I know this is her handiwork because you can't cook shit," she smirked.

The fact was Jax was right. The muffins _had_ been an excuse. Being in the right place at the right time had definitely paid off. Catching the tail end of Marlowe's conversation with Ratboy the night before had been a stroke of good luck and Gemma had wasted no time in interrogating the Prospect after Marlowe had left. This morning after learning that the medic had not returned to the lot, it had been a no-brainer in making an educated guess as to where she would find Marlowe, but seeing was believing and Gemma had to see it with her own eyes first.

Which was why she had turned up with breakfast in hand. However, Gemma could sense the snarky attitude rolling off her son and sighed as she realized that he was about to suck the joy out of her hopeful happiness. In Gemma's mind, buzz-killing Jax was being pretty damn selfish considering that all she ever cared about was _his_ happiness.

"Okay, Jackson, so what animal crawled up your ass today?"

"A meddling little porcupine known as _my mother_ ," Jax said darkly and watched as Gemma placed a balled up fist on her cocked hip.

"I don't get why you're so pissy. I'm just concerned—"

"I know you are, Ma," Jax quickly interrupted, "but you don't have to be."

"I can't help it, Jackson. After everything you went through with the doctor bitch, all I want is to see my son and grandson settled and happy," Gemma countered. "You may have forgotten but it was _I_ who told you that Tara wasn't cut out for our way of life thirteen years ago," she reminded him with a surprisingly gentle tone. "And I am truly sorry that it didn't work out simply because of the pain she caused you. But there's a part of me that sees what you have going with Marlowe and what I see looks _real_ good. It looks genuine and strong, and if you feel for her the way I _know_ you do, the last thing I want is you getting hurt all over again when she picks up and leaves Charming—"

"She's not going anywhere."

Gemma blinked once, twice, then smiled widely. "Really?"

"Yes, really," Jax replied. "Marlowe's staying in Charming and we're gonna work on us."

"You want her to be your old lady, don't you?" Gemma said with conviction as she took in her son's face.

Jax sighed and ran his ringed hand over his hair. "Yeah, I do," he finally admitted, "but I'm not rushing her into anything. I've learned from my past mistakes, Ma and I want to do this right. I'm glad that you see that she's the one for me, but even though I appreciate it, I don't need your help." Jax grabbed his mother's hands and stood up, bringing her along with him. Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, he gently guided her towards the door. "Do me a favor, though."

"Sure, sweetheart," Gemma stopped and turned to cup his cheek.

"Spread the word for me that I'm taking a couple of days off. Unless there's an emergency, I don't want to be disturbed for the rest of the weekend, a'ight?"

Gemma reached up and tucked a lock of his hair behind his ear. "Message heard and understood. I'll spread it around," she promised. Picking up her handbag, she slung it over her shoulder. "I hope you know that I'll always have your back, baby."

Jax gave her a ghost of a smile. "I know, Ma, and you always do."

Seeing the determined, no-nonsense look on Jax's face, she felt her heart ache a little. Her baby really didn't need her help after all. "So I'll just pull back and let you do your thang," she said quietly as she opened the backdoor. "Just don't take so damn long."

* * *

_**Sunday, July 25, 2010** _

It was barely after midnight and Marlowe was actively fighting to keep her eyes open. No longer suffering from insomnia on a daily basis, the fact that she had enjoyed probably the best Saturday of her life chasing Abel around Jax's small backyard made her want to push sleep away for as long as possible. She was nowhere near ready for this wonderful day to end just yet.

After putting Abel down for the night, however, Jax had done his best to make sure she ended up in an exhausted heap in his bed after a long and heated round of lovemaking. Snuggled firmly in his embrace with one of his heavy legs thrown over hers, Marlowe could tell by his breathing that he was awake as well. Running her hand up from his lean waist over his naked, muscled chest, she softly ruffled the hair on his chin.

"Hey, darlin'," Jax said softly as he pressed a kiss on the top her head. "I thought I had lost you to the Sandman."

"Almost," Marlowe said, turning her head up to smile sleepily at him. "Talk to me, baby. I don't want to fall asleep just yet."

Jax chuckled. "You'll regret saying that when little man wakes up at the ass crack of dawn."

Marlowe gently tugged on his beard, bringing his mouth down to hers. Kissing each other thoroughly with no little amount of tongue, she pulled away and smiled. "I doubt I'll ever regret anything that's happened this weekend."

Jax cupped her face and looked her in the eyes. Her beautiful gray orbs seemed to be dancing merrily and he could tell that she was genuinely happy. Although they still had much to discuss, Jax had pushed thoughts of any potentially unpleasant conversations to the back of his mind. He loved having Marlowe and Abel under the same roof. Watching them interact whether they were playing in the kiddie pool in the backyard or during his bath before bed time had been just one of the highlights of this unexpected weekend together. The last thing he wanted to do was spoil her mood, but with Happy returning on Tuesday, Jax had resolved to bring up her Kozik dilemma no later than Sunday night.

For now, at least, he had everything he wanted and needed under one roof.

"I love you, babe," Jax said quietly. "I meant what I said about us being able to overcome anything together."

He had no clue what had prompted him to say that to her again. Maybe it was knowing something she believed he had no clue about or his innate need to protect the ones he loved. Whatever the reason, Marlowe felt a slight twinge in her heart. Since declaring their love for one another on Friday, Marlowe had been struggling with her conscience.

 _How can I can claim to love Jax if I can't bring myself to share everything about myself with him_ , she thought as she bit her lip.

After all, there was very little she could claim not knowing about Jax Teller. From the Club's gun-running business to his relationship with Tara as well as with Abel's mother Wendy Case, Jax had shared it all during their time together. Stating that there was a lot more story left to be told, he had promised to share with her whatever she wanted to know. Yet, here she was withholding pieces of herself from him. If she had learned anything from Happy it was his belief that no matter what it was, it was always better to butt heads over the truth than lies. Although she had not actively lied to Jax, not telling him at least about the Kozik situation was weighing heavy on her. Being that it involved a member of SAMCRO, there was no way to avoid him ever finding out but if he had to know, she decided, it was best that it came from her.

"I love you too, Jax," Marlowe finally responded. Removing herself from his embrace, she pulled herself into a sitting position. "We need to talk."

Although Jax knew that they indeed needed to talk, it was a purely instinctual male reaction to have his sphincter clench at the sound of the four most dreaded words a man would rather not hear strung together. "What is it, babe?" he asked as he sat up next to her, both leaning back on the headboard they had been actively banging against the wall not too long ago.

Taking a deep bracing breath, Marlowe looked up into Jax's face, still as gorgeous as sin in spite of his black eye and split lip. "I'm a coward, Jax."

Jax's brow furrowed as he shook his head. "You are many things, Doc, but a coward ain't one of them."

"Yeah, I am. I was ready to run away from you and Charming all because I couldn't face some uncomfortable truths about myself involving my mom," Marlowe explained distastefully. "Shannon has always been like my Achilles' heel, Jax. I'd sooner face off with the Taliban than have to relive my childhood and that's exactly what happened to me on Friday," she hesitated, but then continued, "after I found some pictures of my mother in Kozik's room."

Jax knew Marlowe was carefully watching his face for a reaction, but he was determined not to give her one until she got everything off her chest. "Go on, darlin'," he encouraged quietly.

With her eyes never leaving his, Marlowe explained that she had been gathering toiletries to bring to Kozik at the Wellness Center when she came across the pictures. Seeing her mother's face again after so many years had been what had shocked her the most, not the fact that Kozik and Shannon had obviously known each other at one time.

Although Jax knew what was coming, he couldn't help but hold his breath. He knew Marlowe and knew this was probably her biggest step forward in their relationship. Even bigger than admitting she loved him, she was about to prove that she trusted him as well. However, he wasn't expecting to hear what came out of her mouth next.

"Memories came flooding back and I reacted very badly, Jax," she explained, and he could see tears glistening in her eyes and threatening to fall. "I think it was my worst episode to date and I was all by myself."

"Episode? You mean PTSD?" he asked worriedly as Marlowe nodded.

"I was wide awake too, which made it all that much worse," she replied. "I lost five hours that I can't really account for, except to say that I probably spent them curled up on the floor lying in my own vomit."

Jax's jaw clenched as he reached for her trembling hand resting on her lap. "Why didn't you call me, Marlowe?"

Marlowe shook her head. "Once I came to, I needed answers from Kozik so I headed for Modesto. He didn't deny knowing her, _he couldn't_ , but I was just so angry that he never told me himself. I thought I'd yell at him for not saying anything and we'd move on, but then he told me—" she felt her heart rate accelerate uncomfortably in her chest. "He told he thought that he may be my father."

Jax squeezed her hand tightly, but his expression hadn't changed from the concern he had since learning about her episode in Kozik's room. To Marlowe's way of thinking, what she had just said had probably not registered with Jax, but the truth was he didn't give a damn who her father was. His only worry was that after weeks of seeing marked improvements, suffering another episode of PTSD seemed like a step backwards for her.

"Darlin', why would seeing pictures of your mom trigger an episode?" he finally asked.

Marlowe was confused. "Jax, didn't you hear what I just said about Kozik?"

"I know about Kozik, Marley," Jax stated impatiently. "That's not what's important. Tell—"

" _You know?_ " Marlowe pulled her hand away from his. "What do you mean _you know_?"

Jax ran his ringed hand through his hair. "Shit," he muttered under his breath.

Throwing the thin summer blanket away from her body, Marlowe jumped out of bed. "Son of a bitch told you!"

"Whoa, babe, hold on," Jax jumped out of bed as well as Marlowe started rifling through her freshly-laundered clothes for her underwear. "We've been through this once already and you're not going anywhere," he ordered as he pulled the clothes out of her hands and tossed them back onto the chair. In one smooth motion, he scooped her up and placed her back on the bed again.

"You knew all this time and you didn't say anything," Marlowe accused, tears freely falling from her eyes.

Standing in front of her on the side of the bed, Jax gently cupped her face in both his hands. "I'm sorry, darlin'. I just wanted to give you time to wrap your head around this shit. I knew you'd talk to me about it once you were ready and I was going to tell you then."

Marlowe was looking up at him with wide, wild eyes. "He told Hap too, didn't he?" Jax's jaw clenched, but he nodded. There was no sense in denying something she was bound to find out. "I'm gonna kill him," she stated emphatically.

"No you're not, babe," Jax replied. "Deep down you know he only did it 'cause he cares about you. Kozik was feeling pretty shitty after you left and got the sense that you were hating him a little bit. He thought you might need someone to lean on, that's all."

Feeling somewhat contrite, Marlowe hurriedly swiped at the tears on her cheeks. "I don't hate him. It's not his fault my mother was a whore," she said bitterly as Jax cocked an eyebrow.

"Care to elaborate?" he asked.

Looking up at Jax, Marlowe cocked an eyebrow as well. "Care to tell me the truth about who busted up your face?" she snarked.

Jax smirked. "Judging by your tone, I think you already know."

"Shit," Marlowe groaned. "Why would Happy take it out on you, Jax? Were you just the next easy target since Kozik's basically bedridden?"

"Hey, I wouldn't necessarily call myself an 'easy target', darlin'," Jax teased. "Besides, if memory serves, I threw the first punch."

Marlowe gave him a dead-eye glare before rolling her eyes. "Why would you do that?"

"Emotions were running high, babe. No one was acting like they normally would," Jax explained and breathed a silent sigh of relief when it looked like she was going to let it go at that.

"Yeah, I know what you mean." Marlowe pushed her loose and somewhat wild and tangled hair away from her face. Looking down at herself, it dawned on her that she was naked. "Ain't life the shit?" she said throwing her hands up. "I take it that's why Hap took off for parts unknown this weekend."

Jax nodded as he sat on the bed next to Marlowe. "He'll be back on Tuesday."

"I should have been the one that told him, you know," Marlowe lamented. "Hap's been like a father to me since practically the day we met."

"That won't change, darlin'," Jax assured her. "Hap won't let it."

Marlowe chuckled.

"So, learning that Kozik could be your father, is that what was sending your ass hightailing out of Charming?" Jax asked bluntly.

Marlowe looked into Jax deep blue eyes for a long time before she shook her head. "Not really. I just wanted to put distance between myself and my mother. I probably would have ended up in San Diego had you let me go on Friday. I know it sounds stupid, and it's not his fault, but I just don't want to be reminded of Shannon every time I look at Kozik."

"Doesn't Hap remind you of your mom?" Jax asked logically.

Marlowe shook her head, her eyes suddenly welling up once again. "Never. Hap's my hero. He saved me from something far worse than death."

Thinking that was as much as he was getting out of her, Jax was at a loss for what to say when Marlowe continued.

"I don't normally make it a habit talking about my childhood, Jax, but I'm sure based on what you've heard, you know it wasn't a happy one until I went to live with Amelia," Marlowe started. "Shannon wasn't abusive in the sense that she smacked me around. I don't think she ever laid a hand on me, actually. Her abuse was more in terms of neglect. I was a burden she was willing to pawn off on anyone who'd have me. One of those people was the son of an elderly neighbor she paid to watch me on nights she was working the strip club."

Jax closed his eyes as he rubbed his forehead with one hand. A sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach was warning him of what might be coming next. As usual, his gut was right.

Sparing him explicit details, Marlowe recounted why her neighbor Russell had ended up on Happy's bad side and how all that was left of him today was a smiley face tattoo on the SAA's torso. Memories of Russell and what he had done to her had been triggered by photos of her mother causing her to experience her most epic episode of PTSD ever.

"If he is my father, I don't blame Kozik for what happened. He had no clue there was even a possibility he had a kid somewhere," Marlowe said adamantly. "But I do blame Shannon. After all these years, I still hate her and I hate the fact that I found those pictures here, in Charming of all places. I was so happy here, Jax. I thought I had left her behind in Bakersfield, but for five desperate hours, Shannon managed to taint it all for me again."

"Babe," Jax started, gently pulling her into his arms until she was straddling his lap. "You can still be happy here. I'll make sure of that, I promise."

Marlowe ran her hands over his tousled hair before cupping his bearded cheeks. "You already have," she said softly against his lips before Jax enveloped her mouth with his.

Knowing that she would never find the kind of happiness she had experienced in the last forty-eight hours anywhere else, Marlowe was determined to fight whatever demons plagued her in order to stay in Charming.

_With Jax and Abel._

* * *

_**Tuesday, July 27, 2010** _

Happy sat in silence as he lit up another smoke, an open beer one of the Prospects had brought out to him sitting untouched by his side. Despite that fact that it was a blazing hot day, there was a nice breeze blowing in the shade courtesy of the Clubhouse's overhang above the picnic table, allowing the SAA to relax peacefully as he waited for his sister to arrive.

A weekend away from all the personal shit that had exploded on Friday had been just what he needed. Drinking, eating and fucking was always the best way for a one-percenter like Happy Lowman to take his mind off shit he rather not think about for too long, especially when it concerned the possibility that his brother could have fathered the little girl he had looked after for most of her life. He almost wished he could have expressed his gratitude to the woman he came to think of as "Tiny" for taking his mind off of his problems.

The hot and tiny bitch had certainly been full of surprises. First of all, sophisticated was the word that popped unbidden into his mind when he thought of her. Stripped of her high-class duds, however, she was just as freaky and up for anything as any of Jury's girls. Had she not done her best to exhaust him the night before, Happy most definitely would have hit Tiny's shit a few more times. It was no wonder he had been sorely disappointed to wake up the next morning to find that she had bailed on him.

His Indian Hills getaway had re-energized him and the distance had given him a different perspective of Marlowe's situation. Having given her the space to deal with the mindfuck she must have suffered thanks to Kozik, now somewhat clear-headed himself, Happy was ready to confront her about what he knew.

Arriving on the lot about an hour before, Happy had been on his way to his dorm when he ran into the SAMCRO Pres as he exited the Chapel with Opie. Ready to ignore him until he was ready to deal with their own shit, Happy was surprised that Jax had taken the first step in approaching him. Asking Opie to leave them for a minute, Happy watched as the gentle giant reluctantly left the two of them alone.

Jax had wasted no time in telling Happy that he needed to stay put on the lot as Marlowe was on her way back to talk to him. Although he would leave them to their conversation, Jax didn't want Marlowe bleeding over this again or Happy would have him to deal with.

"And what about our 'talk'?" Happy had asked brusquely.

"Whenever you're ready to deal with our shit, so am I," Jax had replied in the same tone before turning to head outside.

After dumping his saddle bags and taking a quick shower, Happy had made his way to the picnic table to sit in wait for Marlowe. About to pull out his prepay and find out what the fuck was taking her so long, Happy finally saw the gray Impala make its way onto the lot and into its reserved parking space.

"About damn time," he muttered under his breath as the door opened and out popped Marlowe. As she slammed the door and turned, Happy saw the moment the fact that he was there had registered with her. Watching as she squared her shoulders, the biker grinned inwardly.

 _Looks like Marley's gearing up for a fight_.

"Hey," Marlowe said a little guardedly as she approached him.

Happy was wearing a pair dark sunglasses that made it difficult to gauge what was going on in his mind, but she was determined not to take any shit either way. Shoving her hands into the front pockets of her jeans, Marlowe waited for him to acknowledge her greeting. When it seemed like he had no intention of being civil, she started gearing up to jump down his throat when he finally decided to speak.

"Hey," Happy responded with a tilt of his head as if he were eyeing her. With those damn sunglasses, she couldn't really tell. "Where you been?"

Allowing herself to step a little closer, Marlowe finally stopped in front of him. "Checking on Amelia," she replied. "You?"

"Just got back from Indian Hills."

Marlowe nodded. "Had a good time, I hope."

"You could say that," he replied with a shoulder shrug. "Jury has a sweet set up over there and fine stable of girls," he continued thinking briefly about the blue-eyed bitch he had literally fucked six ways to Sunday.

"Stable?" Marlowe queried and rolled her eyes as his meaning became clear. "Shit, I thought running guns was the Sons' business of choice. They run girls too?"

"In Nevada they do. It's legal in most counties and Jury treats his bitches well. Everyone's making money and all the girls seem pretty happy with the arrangement," he explained, which was the most talking, Marlowe noted, he had ever done regarding Club business.

"Well, you're not the one earning a living on your back, are ya?" Marlowe countered.

"No, but right now I'm not interested in discussing how I earn, so are you gonna stop with the bullshit small talk and get to it or not?" he said gruffly.

Marlowe crossed her arms over her chest. "Aren't you a ray of sunshine? Maybe you should go away more often since it seems to do wonders for your attitude," she quipped sarcastically. "I'm ready to talk anytime you are, Hap. I'm just not interested in doing it in front of an audience." She turned and headed towards the Clubhouse, relieved that she could hear the clomping of his boots as he followed her inside.

The Clubhouse was cool and quiet. Marching over to the leather couch, Marlowe plopped herself down and crossed one leg over the other as she eyed Happy. Her eyes widened in surprise as he bypassed the large armchair across from her, sitting instead on the coffee table directly in front of her. Finally removing his sunglasses, Happy hung them from the collar of his t-shirt.

"So what do you want to talk about?" Marlowe asked nonchalantly as she bounced her foot up and down.

"Oh, I think you know," Happy said evenly. "After all, it's not every fuckin' day you get to meet the asshole that may have spawned you."

Happy watched as Marlowe pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed loudly. "Yeah, and I'm guessing you're pissed off that I didn't come to you about it first, huh?" She was, however, surprised by his response.

"I guess I was, maybe just a little, but it's not like I stuck around long enough for you to drop the news on me. The Pres and I had a talk. He seemed to think you needed time to sort out your shit, so I took off for a while," Happy explained.

"I know," she retorted testily. "I saw the results of your 'talk' all over his face. What the fuck, Hap? Why do you always have to be such an aggressive pain in the ass?"

"Shit, why are you so surprised?" he countered. "Have you suddenly forgotten who I am?"

Marlowe pursed her lips. "I guess it's too much to hope that _maybe_ you had mellowed out some over the years."

"Yeah, it would," he agreed testily.

Marlowe realized that the time for dodging her own feelings was over. Regardless of how painful it was for her or how hard it would be for Happy to deal with her emotional baggage, she knew she couldn't hold it in any longer.

"Look, Hap. Hearing about Kozik and Shannon really did a number a me, and not for the obvious reason that he could be my father. It goes deeper than that," Marlowe started, shuddering ever-so-slightly, which did not go unnoticed by Happy. "It stirred up some shit-awful memories, the kind I worked really hard to forget, you know what I mean?"

Watching him clench and unclench his fists was all the answer she needed. "That piece of shit is dead, Marley," he muttered angrily referring to the man that had molested her, his eyes blazing fiercely. "I promised I'd take care of it and I did."

"Hap, I know you did. You have to believe me when I say that the bad shit I've been dealing with since Friday has nothing to do with you. You rescued me from a situation that could have been far worse than it was and I will always be grateful for that," Marlowe assured him.

"I wouldn't have had to do shit at all had Kozik been around to protect you since the beginning," Happy said angrily.

"You can't blame Kozy for what happened—"

"The hell I can't!"

"Well, you shouldn't," Marlowe replied calmly. "He said he didn't know about me and I believe him. Besides, even if he was with Shannon it doesn't necessarily mean that he's my father." Seeing Happy's disgruntled expression it was as if a light bulb finally went off in her head. Reaching forward, she grabbed one of Happy's hands. "Is that what has your boxers in a knot?" she prodded. "The thought of someone else being my father?"

Happy grimaced. "I didn't say that."

"You don't have to. I know you pride yourself on keeping your shit contained, but it's written all over your grumpy face, Hap and it's shit you shouldn't be worried about either," Marlowe paused then continued. "Kozik may or may not be my biological father, but as far as I'm concerned, I only have one father figure in my life and I'm sitting in front of him right now," she said gently.

Happy found that he couldn't meet Marlowe's eyes at first. It took several seconds before he could actually make himself look her in the face and he instantly recognized the love and respect that was beaming back at him. He wasn't the kind of man that was ruled by his emotions, but when he reached out to take her other hand and squeezed, Marlowe knew that he understood. She wasn't expecting the words, so when he uttered them, they were enough to leave her breathless.

"You'll always be my little girl, Marley," Happy said gruffly. "You just need to remember that."

Marlowe nodded, quickly taking a hand back to swipe at her eyes. "I'll never forget, Hap," she whispered. Taking her chances, Marlowe reached out and wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him a tight squeeze. She was both laughing and crying when he wrapped his arms around her and briefly hugged her back before gently but firmly pushing her away.

"Ass," she muttered under her breath as she smiled at him.

"Needy bitch," Happy smirked. Sitting silently, he watched as Marlowe got her tears under control. "I guess if one of my brothers had to be your sperm donor, you did all right with Kozy. Gotta admit though, that love/hate shit he has going with Tigger has me wondering sometimes," he said grinning wryly as Marlowe snorted with laughter.

"You too, huh?" she smiled.

"So, have you told Ma yet?" Happy asked.

Marlowe shook her head. "Not yet. I figure it's best to wait until we know for sure, considering she and Ceci are convinced I've banged Kozik."

Happy cocked an eyebrow. "Did ya?"

"NO!" Marlowe denied indignantly.

Happy threw his hands up. "Hey, I had to ask. You do have a thing for dirty blond alpha males. If I had a fuckin' dollar for each time I caught your ass with one, I could buy me a new Harley."

"Shut up, asshole!" Marlowe retorted. " _Anyway_ , after boxing Kozik's ears for opening his yap, I swabbed him for DNA. We should have the results by Friday."

"Shit," Happy grumbled. "What's the damn rush?"

"My peace of mind for one thing. I need to know the truth. It feels like my life is in a holding pattern."

"And what if Kozy is your sperm donor?"

Marlowe sighed. "Then he's my sperm donor. No matter what, Kozik will always be my friend. I'd love him like family, but he will never, _ever_ replace you, Hap. You made me who I am today," she said sincerely. "Without you, I didn't stand a chance. Not only did you give me a home and a mother in Amelia, but you taught me how to draw and how to fight. You even let me knee you in the balls until I learned how to do it right. You were, however, the worst and grumpiest Driver's Ed teacher ever, but you will always have first place in my heart."

"Yeah, whatever," Happy rolled his eyes before tousling her hair. "Now can we put all this touchy-feely shit behind us? I still have a healing I need to sort out." He grinned ferociously as he saw the alarm creep into Marlowe's eyes.

"Hap, you leave Jax alone! I mean it!" she insisted as he stood up.

"What? You afraid I'm going to mess up that pretty face some more?"

"Yeah I am! I happen to lov—" Marlowe coughed as she caught herself. "I happen to like his pretty face just fine. You've already done enough damage and there's no reason to do some more."

"I'll be the judge of that, little girl," Happy replied as he headed off to his dorm.

* * *

Jax was lying on his side on the floor playing with his son when he heard the distinctive pipes of his brother's ride as he pulled into the driveway.

"That was sooner than expected," he said under his breath as he helped Abel stack small wooden blocks into the shape of a house.

Giving Happy and Marlowe the space they needed to talk had not been easy. Jax had wanted to be there with Marlowe for support, but he knew better than to think Happy would be alright with that. After all, when it came to his family, Happy was like a dog with a bone and would not have appreciated his "interference in family shit." Instead, after saying his piece to Happy, Jax had left the lot and headed for the Streams to clear his head before heading home to his son.

As the doorbell rang, Jax was about to get up from the carpeted floor only to be waved away as Elyda came out of the kitchen to answer the door. He heard her quiet greeting mixing with the gravelly baritone of his SAA and watched as she stepped aside to let him in. Walking into the living room, Happy looked somewhat intimidating as he looked down at his President and his son.

"Hey," he said as he towered over the two Teller men.

"Hi!" Abel piped up with a wide grin. "You play wit Daddy?"

"I think Hap has other business he's here to deal with, little man," his father drawled as he stood up to face Happy. "Elyda," Jax called out, not breaking contact with Happy's dark glasses.

"Yes, Mr. Teller?" the nanny reappeared wiping her hands on a dish towel.

"Can you take Abel down to the playground for an hour?" Jax stooped down to pick up his son. "You'd like that, wouldn't you, little man?"

"Swing!" Abel chortled. Jax grinned as he handed him off to Elyda. Jax watched the nanny tuck his son into the stroller sitting by the door as she advised him to turn the stove off in about twenty minutes. Grabbing the ever-ready diaper bag, Elyda and Abel happily headed out the door.

As the door closed behind them, Jax turned and headed towards the kitchen. "You wanna beer?" he tossed over his shoulder.

Happy followed him into the cheerful kitchen sniffing in appreciation as the smell of meat and potatoes hit his nose. "Sure," he replied, pulling out a chair from the kitchen table and straddling it as he tossed his sunglasses on the table. "Your nanny cooks too?" He watched as Jax uncapped two long-necked bottles of beer and offered him one before sitting down.

"Nah. She takes care of Abel and does some light housekeeping and shopping. Ma always takes care of the food situation around here, like I'm gonna starve to death if she doesn't send over a meatloaf on Tuesdays."

"Smells good," Happy said appreciatively as he took a swallow of his beer. "Ma could always throw down in the kitchen."

"Since I see you're in one piece, I'm hoping Marley's okay too?" Jax asked quietly, his eyes focused on his brother's.

Happy stretched out a booted foot. "She's a'ight," Happy paused. "So . . . how's your face?" he grinned a little ferociously as Jax proffered a wry smile and massaged his chin ruefully.

"Just fine, _now_. How are your ribs?"

Happy rolled his eyes. "It's all good, though you did manage to interfere a little with my dick games."

"I can't believe you let a couple of body shots put paid to you getting laid," Jax smirked.

"I didn't," Happy said a little indignantly. "Just meant that the bitches had to work a little harder to get me off, is all."

Jax leaned back in his chair. "So I'm guessing you're not here to give me a blow-by-blow of your sexcapades this weekend, right?"

"No. I'm not." Happy slammed the bottle down on the table. "I'm here for a healing," he declared as he crossed his arms and rested them over the back of the chair. "We got some shit to work out and maybe its best we do it here instead of the ring." He watched as a cocky grin spread across Jax's face.

"Why? You afraid you can't take me, old man?"

"I'm afraid we'd be voting in a new pres," Happy smirked. "Somehow, I don't think Ope would appreciate that shit."

"A'ight then. Let me go first," Jax replied, putting his own beer down. "I'm sorry, Hap."

The apology, completely unexpected, startled his SAA. "Say what?" he sputtered.

"Your hearing going too, old man?" Jax teased.

"Oh, I _heard_ you. What I want to know is _why._ "

"Cause I owe you one, that's why," Jax replied. "You have every right to be pissed at me, just not for the reasons you may think."

"And what reasons are those?"

"We're brothers, Hap. You're an officer of the Club you have served loyally for years and you watch my back. When it comes to pussy, we don't call each other out on our shit because that's all it is, just pussy. Marlowe, however, is not and _never_ was 'just pussy' to me, but I was wrong not being upfront with you about my feelings for her," Jax explained. "I gave you the impression that she wasn't important enough for me to come to you out of respect and that was wrong of me. You should be pissed at me for that shit. I was out of line and I am sorry, brother." He watched as Happy seemed to be absorbing his words.

Happy wasn't big on making apologies himself, so he figured that if Jax was willing to stand up and admit that he had been colossally wrong in stepping up to Marlowe, he could accept that. "A'ight, but I still don't like this shit between you two," he replied slowly and watched as his Pres' shoulders hunched with tension. "Marley's been through a lot in her life. She ain't exactly had an easy childhood and adulthood hasn't been all that great either. She got sucked up and used by the Navy before they spat her out for some shit that wasn't her fault. She even served some time for it. You know about that Navy shit, right?"

"Yeah, I know," Jax said with a nod.

"Marley ain't never said as much, but I know she suffers from nightmares. She don't sleep a whole fuckin' lot either—that is, until she hooked up with you," the outlaw biker continued. Taking another sip of his beer, Happy grinned as he noted the baffled expression on Jax's face. "What? You think I don't notice shit? I've known that girl since she was eight years old. I don't need her to tell me shit's wrong to know that it is."

"Okay," Jax allowed.

"I also know when she's happy," Happy said quietly. "I see it in her face when she's on the lot chatting with mechanics; when she's digging a bullet out of a shithead prospect; at the bar listening to one of Piney's longwinded yarns; when she and Kozy are ragging on Tig; and I see it in the mornings after she's had a good night's sleep. At the time she's usually sneaking out of your dorm and heading back to hers, but yeah. I know when Marley's happy because it's not something I saw a whole lot of even before she joined up."

"You see a hell of a lot," Jax snarked.

"Of course I do. She's my little girl. I see every damn thing, that is when I can manage to pull my head outta my own ass where she's concerned. Marley's kind of a soft spot for me," Happy admitted.

"I can tell," Jax said and watched as his brother raised an eyebrow. "No worries. Not everyone has an eye for that shit like I do, so I'm sure your secret's safe with me."

"That's the soft spot in you, boy. You can be one crazy bastard when the situation calls for it, but you have a major soft spot for the bitches. It's probably 'cause you're such a mama's boy," Happy taunted.

"It takes one to know one," Jax shot back. "Or so I've heard."

Happy shook his head and growled. "Marley's got a pretty big fuckin' mouth."

"Yeah she does and I'm a lucky man for it." Jax's predatory smile had Happy shooting daggers at him. "Sorry, bro. Too much information?"

"Yeah, it was, _Pres_ ," Happy said menacingly. He ran a frustrated hand over his shining dome. "Listen, bottom line, you saying Marlowe ain't pussy, it's not good enough for me. I need to know that she's gonna be happy, safe and respected, and I'm not hearing anything from you telling me that's your plan. So unless I do, I'm gonna do my best to make sure she goes back to Bakersfield with my Moms."

Jax's jaw clenched and his nostrils flared. "Then let me clear that shit up for you right now," he said forcefully as his blue eyes bore into Happy's dark ones. "I _love_ Marlowe. Now that may be hard for you to believe after everything I went through with Tara recently, but it's the fuckin' truth. In every way that matters, she's perfect for me. She's strong, smart, beautiful, and loving. She also has some serious trust issues. She's stubborn and snarky and just a little crazy, but we all know where she gets that from, don't we?" Jax said knowingly. "I'm in love with her all the same, Hap, and if I have my say, she'll be staying right here with me."

Both men sat in silence for a long while, both stubbornly refusing to be the one to break eye contact. Hearing his stomach rumble suddenly, Happy finally rolled his eyes. "A'ight already," he complained. "Dish me up a plate of Ma's meatloaf, will ya? I'm starving."

* * *

_**Friday, July 30, 2010:** _

"Where the fuck is she?" Kozik bemoaned bleakly at his brothers. "She's been gone all morning."

"Maybe she hit some traffic on the way back," Jax offered from his position by the window.

"Yeah, little girl's got a lead foot," Happy concurred. "Otherwise, you know she'd be here by now."

It was the first time that the SAA had spoken since entering Kozik's room nearly ten minutes ago. With both he and Jax receiving a text from Marlowe that she was on her way back from Stockton, the two bikers had made easy time from Charming to Modesto to wait for news on the DNA test.

It had been a week since Kozik had dropped the bombshell on Happy and Jax with the two of them coming to blows right in front of him. According to Marlowe, Hap and Jax had worked out their issues and both men seemed calm and comfortable in each other's presence now.

Kozik and Happy, however, had yet to work shit out between them.

Kozik wasn't stupid. He had known since officially meeting Marlowe in Charming that Happy had a deep connection with the young woman. It was something that had grown throughout the years, a bond that was more fatherly than anything else. No matter what the results were, Kozik had no plans to interfere with that shit. He knew that Happy was the closest thing Marlowe had ever had to a real father and he was grateful for that. He just needed to let him know that as well.

"Marley must have been a real handful growing up, huh?" Kozik asked Happy and watched as the biker unfolded his arms from across his chest and relaxed.

"Yeah," Happy nodded nostalgically, the way a real father would. "She hasn't changed all that much either. Still a pain in my ass, but I wouldn't have her any other way."

"Anybody tell Amelia?" Kozik asked slightly concerned. He had actually taken a liking to Mrs. Lowman and hoped the situation wouldn't change her opinion of him.

"Not yet," Happy replied. "Marlowe figured it didn't make any sense to drop shit on her until we knew for sure."

Kozik nodded. Taking a deep breath, he plowed on ahead with what needed to be said. "I hope you know that I got much respect for you Hap, for what you did for Marley. I can only wish that I had been around to do right by her, but you were and I'm really thankful for that. In every way that counts," Kozik paused as he looked into his brother's eyes, "you are her father and I will always respect and acknowledge that."

It was exactly what Happy had been needing to hear. Kozik watched as the outlaw's grim face relaxed and was stunned by the forgiveness he saw in his eyes.

"So we good?" Kozik asked, and watched Happy proffer a wry grin.

"Yeah, bro. We're good."

Watching from his spot at the window as Happy reached over to slap a bro hug on Kozik, Jax breathed a quiet sigh of relief. With the final breach seemingly healed, it was time for everyone to move forward.

 _And just in time, too_ , he thought as the door to Kozik's room opened to reveal Marlowe, her always-present backpack slung over her shoulder and a long white envelope in her hand.

"So," she said with a nervous smile as she waved the envelope around, "who wants to do the honors?"

Happy stepped up to her. "I'll do it," he said, his tone a little tight as he took the envelope. "Sit your ass down, little girl," he said, shoving her in the direction of the chair next to Kozik's bed. "I don't need you passing out on us."

"I've cut through bone with a hacksaw and no anesthesia. I'm not gonna pass out, asshole," she shot back. Tossing her backpack at the foot of the bed, she reached down to kiss Kozik on the cheek.

"Hey, where's mine?" Jax challenged and walked over to bend down and kissed Marlowe intimately. Straightening up, Jax stood behind her chair, holding one of her hands in his as Kozik held the other. "A'ight, Hap. Let's do this shit," he said.

Rolling his eyes a little at the picture the three of them made, Happy ripped open the flap and pulled out several sheets of paper. Unfolding them, he quickly perused the top sheet.

"Well?" Marlowe said impatiently, her legs bouncing up and down.

Happy looked up and focused his black eyes on hers. "Damn," he replied.

* * *


	42. Chapter 42

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sons of Anarchy. I do, however, own Marlowe and any other OCs that appear in the 2 Sons Universe.**

**Spoiler Alert** **:** **Please note that even though this is an AU fic, starting with this chapter, certain plots, events and/or situations from Season 6 will be portrayed and/or referenced.**

* * *

_**Friday, July 30, 2010** _

" _Well?" Marlowe said impatiently, her legs bouncing up and down._

_Happy looked up and focused his black eyes on hers. "Damn," he replied._

Happy tossed the envelope and its contents into Marlowe's lap. "Congratulations, brother," his voice was gravelly with emotion. "It's a fuckin' girl." He watched as Kozik's shoulders slumped in shock.

"Well, shit," Jax muttered as he felt Marlowe tremble against him. "You a'ight, darlin'?"

Marlowe shook her head slightly. "Uh, not really sure," she managed as she looked up and into Kozik's disbelieving eyes, her own starting to swell with unshed tears.

Jax clapped a hand on Happy's shoulder. "Maybe we should give them some privacy, bro." He watched as Happy nodded and quietly turned to follow him out the door.

Looking over his shoulder, the last thing Jax Teller saw was Marlowe, now perched on Kozik's bed, wrapped in the brawny embrace of the man who made her.

* * *

Amelia had just returned to her room after lunch to change for her session in the hydrotherapy tub when her phone rang. It had been Marlowe asking her to come down to Mr. Kozik's room. Although it wasn't an unusual request as they had visited with each other several times since first meeting, there was something odd about the timing of the phone call that had her feeling slightly apprehensive. As a matter of fact, Amelia found herself mumbling nervously under her breath as she rode the elevator down to the third floor. Her children had been acting strange lately, with both of them disappearing with no explanation the weekend before. It had been the first time since her admission into the Wellness Center that one or both had not bothered to visit or call.

For whatever reason she had been summoned down to Mr. Kozik's room, however, it suddenly dawned on Amelia that it could be something serious as she turned the corner and spotted her son standing outside the man's room.

 _And he's not alone_ , Amelia thought to herself as she took note of the tall, blond man wearing a leather vest similar to Happy's.

 _It's called a kutte, Ma_ , she could almost hear Kique's voice echoing in her head.

She was halfway down the hall when Happy spotted her. Quickly approaching her with something resembling a scowl on his face, Happy gently but firmly grabbed her free arm as if she had been in danger of falling.

"Ma, what are you doing down here?" he asked tersely. Amelia's ears pricked as she picked up the same strange undertones in her son's voice as she had heard from Marlowe over the phone.

"Marley called me down," she replied, pulling her arm from his grip. "Hijo, let go! I'm not an invalid, so stop treating me like one. The cane is all the support I need," she said stubbornly.

Now getting closer, Amelia could see the blond man smile as she chastised her son. There seemed to be a glint of recognition in his blue eyes even though Amelia was sure they had never met before. To Jax, however, it was clear that Marlowe had come into her stubbornness and pride through nurture not nature as he came face-to-face with the woman responsible for raising her.

"Mrs. Lowman," Jax said as the elderly woman came to a stop in front of him. "It's a pleasure finally meeting you. I'm Jax Teller." He held a hand out for her.

Shaking his hand with a slight tilt to her head as she looked up into his indisputably handsome face, Amelia smiled broadly. _Ay, hija! I was totally wrong about Kozik._ _This_ _is the biker that has Marley's thighs in a clinch!_

"It is indeed a pleasure meeting you, Mr. President, if that _patch_ on your _kutte_ is an indication," she smiled, mentally crossing her fingers that she had gotten the terminology correct. Judging by Kique, bikers were touchy about that kind of thing.

Jax grinned. "Please, Mrs. Lowman, do me the honor of calling me Jax."

Happy's eyebrows shot up in surprise as he heard his mother giggle in response like a schoolgirl. "You are certainly quite charming, Jax," Amelia complimented sincerely. "Why is it that you haven't rubbed off on my son? And please, call me Amelia."

Suddenly, the door to Kozik's room flew open. "Oh," Marlowe said somewhat surprised from the doorway. "You're here." Her eyes bounced from Amelia to Jax, back to Amelia, then Happy, and once again back to Amelia. "I was about to come get you."

"Hija, I got here as soon as I could," Amelia replied with exasperation. "What is the rush, anyway?"

"Come inside, Tía." Marlowe stepped out of the way and held the door open. "You too," she said indicating both Jax and Happy.

Warmly greeting Kozik, Amelia let Marlowe guide her into the chair by his bed. Once seated, she looked around the room at the serious faces surrounding her. "Marley, you obviously have something to tell me, so spit it out, chica," she demanded softly.

Marlowe got down on her haunches in front of Amelia, taking one of her hands in hers. "Tía, you know that Shannon never told me who my father was, right?"

Amelia nodded. "An unforgiveable thing to do to a child."

Marlowe squeezed her hand and smiled at her surrogate mother. "I know who he is now."

Amelia's eyes widened. She was about to open her mouth to ask "Who?" when she suddenly whipped her head to the side. Looking straight into Kozik's eyes was all the confirmation she needed.

"Mr. Kozik," she said with certainty.

"How did you know?" Kozik asked, stunned by her intuitiveness.

Amelia smiled as tears welled in her eyes. "Mother's have sense for these kind of things."

"Tía," Marlowe said as she gently used her thumb to swipe a tear from Amelia's cheek. "Why are you crying? This is a good thing, right?"

"Of course it is," Amelia replied with a smile. "Family is a beautiful thing." Turning to Kozik, she continued, "Welcome to our family. You have no idea how lucky you are to have a daughter like Marley."

"He's _lucky_ he never had sex with her," Happy muttered under his breath. Jax coughed into his fist to cover his laugh as Marlowe, Kozik and Amelia gave Happy the "What the fuck?" look. "What? Am I wrong?" he asked snidely.

"Well," Amelia started. "Now that it is out there, I have to say, hija, I am so glad I was off the mark about you two. The kinship you and Kozik felt from the start was pure instinct. La sangre llama a la sangre."

"Blood calls out to blood," Marlowe translated with a smile.

"Si," Amelia nodded. "Besides, I knew for a fact I was wrong before I even entered the room. After meeting Jax, it all became very clear," she said airily.

"Wh-what?" Marlowe sputtered, dumbfounded.

"Wow," Jax said impressed. "I can see where Hap gets his keen sense of observation."

"That and I know my daughter really well," Amelia replied with a smile aimed at Jax. "So well in fact that I am going to say something and I want no arguments at all, especially from you, Kique," she demanded, pointing at Happy. "What I am about to say is not up for debate."

Happy shook his head as everyone's eyes focused on him. "I ain't promising shit."

"Well, then, you and your stubborn ass will be sorely disappointed when no one wants listen to what you have to say on the matter," Amelia said adamantly.

"What is it, Tía?" Marlowe asked, her face pinched with worry.

"A lot has happened since you returned home from the Navy, Marley. As pig-headed as I was about the knee surgery, coming up North with Kique was probably the best thing for the both of us. Soon, I will be walking without my cane and not only have you found your father, but lately I've sensed a difference in you, hija. You seem happy and at peace here," Amelia said. Glancing at Jax knowingly, she turned her attention back to Marlowe. "You _will_ fill me in on the details later, but it doesn't take a genius to see that perhaps a man has something to do with these changes."

"Yeah," Marlowe started, giving Amelia the stink eye. "Maybe we should discuss this later, _privately_."

"And we will, but first, I want you to know that when I'm released from here next week," Amelia stated, "there's no need for you to uproot your life here and return to Bakersfield. You should stay."

* * *

_**Monday, August 2, 2010** _

In spite of it being the middle of summer, Lyla Winston found that it was a breezy and cool day as the wind whipped her long curly hair away from her face. The heat had been stifling back in Charming and she realized that it was probably the studio's proximity to the water that accounted for the seemingly mild summer day.

Standing outside the large but abandoned-looking warehouse made of corrugated steel on the edge of the Stockton Naval Yard, it suddenly dawned on Lyla that she didn't want to be here. Unfortunately, she quickly reminded herself, it didn't really matter what she wanted. She had responsibilities to take care of and this was the only way she could think of that would go a long way in getting her out of her current predicament. Still, Lyla had never worked with these producers or studio before. Fetish and bondage porn just wasn't her thing and she was starting to have some serious misgivings about agreeing to do the job. She almost wished she had done the bump of coke Ima had offered for a little Dutch courage. However, it was probably better that she maintain a clear head as lately it seemed like she needed a bump here and there just to get out of bed in the mornings.

Since the tender age of twenty, the life of a porn star was all Lyla had known. It had certainly not been the career path she had planned for herself on the many nights she had stayed home to study during high school, but she knew that if she stayed the course, someday she would have a college degree that would allow her to land an accounting job. It wouldn't be a glamorous life, but at least she might be able to afford to live in an actual house or apartment instead of a double-wide trailer.

Dreams of a middle-class existence were permanently dashed, however, after she lost her scholarship during her freshman year in college. Getting knocked up by her high school sweetheart, Lyla suffered outrageous bouts of morning sickness well into her second trimester, making keeping up her GPA virtually impossible after missing too many days. As if her situation couldn't get any worse, soon after giving birth to Piper, the love of her life and the father of her son decided he was too young to be playing house and took off with a cocktail waitress ten years his senior.

Receiving no child support and having very little money to begin with, Lyla had been forced to work two jobs—one in a fast food restaurant and the other as a checker in a supermarket—while her semi-retired and sickly mother watched Piper. Determined to take care of her son, a year later it seemed as if God had finally answered her prayers. Her days of living paycheck-to-paycheck and hand-to-mouth were about to end when a movie producer-slash-talent scout walked into Jack-in-the-Box and offered to make her a movie star.

Hoping and praying that opportunity was finally knocking on her door, Lyla had shown up at the producer's office only to discover that the film studio he represented—Cara Cara Productions—specialized in adult entertainment. Feeling like an idiot for letting herself believe that a girl like her was entitled to a happily ever after, Lyla had made a beeline for the door when she literally ran into the studio's owner, LuAnn Delaney.

Taking one look at the fresh faced, girl-next-door, LuAnn convinced Lyla to come back inside for a talk and had made her an offer she would have been stupid to refuse. Although in Lyla's mind having sex on film was no better than prostitution, Luann had indeed painted a rosy picture of the industry. With Luann's assurances that she would have the last say on her co-stars and that she would ultimately end up enjoying herself while making tons of money, Lyla embarked on a successful and lucrative career in porn, and she had done it all for her son.

Lyla quickly learned that Luann had not been exaggerating. Doing porn had made her good money and, now more than ever, Lyla needed some big bank and fast. Unfortunately, without explanation, Dondo had suddenly released her from her contract. Opie's insistence that she quit the business had forced Lyla to compromise by agreeing to do only girl-on-girl. She had no doubt in her mind that had been the reason behind her release.

"I don't know, Ly," a voice said from behind her. Lyla turned around and took in Ima's troubled expression, which for the hardened diva was definitely not the norm. "Are you sure about doing this?"

"You know I need the work," Lyla replied by not necessarily answering her question. "Besides, you said that these guys pay really good money and that they pay in cash."

"Yeah, that's what I heard, but I've never worked with these guys," Ima said as she cracked her chewing gum several times, which Lyla recognized as one of Ima's nervous ticks, along with the twirling of her long blonde extensions. "From what Georgie Caruso told me, Hurt Me Bad Productions is a pretty new outfit with foreign investors. Apparently, there's a really big market for fetish films overseas. Maybe you can get Dondo to reinstate your contract, Ly. Six months doing back-to-back films, and you'd have had enough to start over anywhere you end up."

"I appreciate the concern, Ima, but beggars can't be choosers. I can't afford to wait. It's over between me and Ope. I need to face that shit and move on, you know that." Lyla watched as the young woman shrugged her shoulders and flipped on a pair of Prada sunglasses.

"Okay, it's your call." Ima opened her car door. "I'm gonna park over there," she nodded towards the parking lot at the far edge of the property. "I'll come in to check up on you in an hour to make sure everything's working out, okay?"

"Thanks. You're a good friend, Ima," Lyla replied and killed a couple of more minutes watching as Ima made a U-turn and parked the car.

Slinging her purse over her shoulder, Lyla smoothed down the denim miniskirt she wore and headed towards the building. If all went according to plan and the producers liked her, she could probably do a half-dozen films with this new studio, which would be enough to build a sizeable nest egg.

"In four to five hours tops, I'll walk out of here with a tax-free ten grand in my hand. Easy peasy," she said out loud.

It would be the longest _hour_ of Lyla Winston's life.

* * *

Marlowe couldn't contain the cheesy grin that stretched her mouth from ear-to-ear as she snapped her prepay closed and shoved it into the pocket of her cargo pants. Although afraid that she would probably jinx herself for even thinking it, ever since Jax had told her that he loved her it seemed like everything in her life was falling comfortably into place.

First, after the initial shock of discovering the identity of her biological father wore off, she and Kozik had managed to enjoy several long talks over the last few days. Although already good friends, they were now spending time getting to know each other as family. Certain conversations weren't always easy, but they had been fascinating. Even now, Marlowe couldn't wrap her mind around the fact that she had family living in San Diego that she had known nothing about.

However, with Kozik's release from the Wellness Center still several months away, they had decided to hold off on making any general announcements regarding their connection until he was back home in Charming. After all, it made sense getting to know each other well first before outsiders started scrutinizing their relationship. Besides, Marlowe was fine with waiting as long as those closest to her, namely Happy, Jax, Amelia and now Ceci, knew the truth. As shocking as the DNA test results had been, everyone seemed to be coping and getting along rather well and, amazingly enough, that included Happy.

Amelia's announcement that she wanted Marlowe to stay in Charming when she returned to Bakersfield had surprised everyone. Everyone except for Marlowe. Although she had yet to make her relationship with Jax known to her surrogate mother, Marlowe had always known Amelia to be intuitive and wise when it came to her children.

Later, while strolling through the Center's beautiful gardens, Marlowe had opened up to Amelia about what her life was like in Charming and how happy and content she was.

" _I could tell, hija," Amelia responded as they walked through the rose garden arm-in-arm. "Not only are you and Kique reconciled, but you have found a place for yourself among these bikers. Your connection to Kozik makes you more to them than just their medic, but I am sure that has been the case with that young president-fellow for some time now, verdad que si?"_

_Marlowe shrugged a shoulder, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips. "He says he loves me, Tía," she admitted._

" _And the feeling is mutual," Amelia said with conviction. "I know this to be true."_

_Marlowe nodded. "I do love him and his sweet little boy too."_

_Amelia stopped walking. "He has a son?"_

" _With an ex-wife that's not in the picture," Marlowe explained._

" _A ready-made family," Amelia said as she started walking again. "Are you prepared to raise another woman's child, hija?"_

_Marlowe chuckled. "I'm not sure I'm prepared to raise_ _ any _ _child, but I have learned a lot from you, Tía," she said as she gently squeezed Amelia's hand. "Above all I learned that a child doesn't need to come from my womb in order for me to love him unconditionally, like you have loved me since the day we met."_

" _And I will continue to love you until the day I die and beyond," Amelia promised. After walking in companionable silence for several minutes, Amelia suddenly and bluntly asked, "So, when were you planning on telling me that you were staying in Charming?"_

" _I only recently came to that decision," Marlowe started, but Amelia scoffed._

" _Hija, please, I knew something was coming as soon as you got your EMT license and started interviewing for a job," the older woman claimed. "You could have told me you were considering it, at least."_

" _I guess I was waiting for the right time," Marlowe said sheepishly._

" _Anytime would have been the right time, Marley. I'm not Kique." Amelia waved the guilty look on Marlowe's face away. "Besides, you were running out of time. If all goes well, I will be released sometime in the next couple of weeks."_

 _And the good news just keeps coming_ , Marlowe thought happily while the summer breeze blew across her face as she sat at the picnic table.

Amelia had been right. Marlowe had just finished a conference call with the doctors and therapists at the Wellness Center. With Amelia walking confidently on her new knee without needing a cane, she had been given a clean bill of health and would be officially discharged at the end of the week. Making a mental note to discuss with Jax her need to return to Bakersfield temporarily, all thoughts quickly fled her mind as she spotted Gemma's SUV pulling into the lot.

"Shit," Marlowe muttered.

Since getting busted spending quality time with the SAMCRO Pres and his son in the Teller home, Marlowe had managed to keep as much distance as possible between her and the old lady. Although she had nothing to hide and was committed to staying in Charming with Jax, much like Happy Marlowe wasn't big on discussing personal shit. As she started to rise from her seat in order to beat a hasty retreat inside, she saw Gemma walk around to open the vehicle's back door. A moment later, Marlowe grinned and sat back down as Gemma pulled a squirming little bundle with blond hair from his car seat and set his tiny sneakered-feet on the black top. Although severely height-challenged, Marlowe was pleasantly surprised that Abel managed to spot her from clear across the parking lot.

"Arlo!" he hollered, drawing no little amount of attention from the mechanics and hang-arounds on the lot.

Pulling his little hand out of Gemma's, and with his grandmother teetering on stiletto sandals as she gave chase, Abel made a beeline straight for Marlowe. Smiling, she felt a pleasurable warmth start in the pit of her stomach as the little guy barreled over to her. Opening her arms, Marlowe scooped him up just as he took a running leap.

"Hey, look who's here. It's my best bud," she said as Abel wrapped his arms around her neck. Busy greeting the little boy with a smattering of kisses, Marlowe paid no attention as his grandmother finally caught up.

"Running is definitely not good for my heart," Gemma said as she tried to catch her breath.

Marlowe gave her a sideways look. "Yeah, it's the running 'cause the three packs a day are keeping you fit and spunky, right?"

Gemma put her hand on a cocked hip as she dropped Abel's bag and her purse onto the picnic table. "Oh look, at least my little man is happy to see you," she snarked.

"The feeling is most definitely mutual," Marlowe snarked right back as she sat Abel on her lap. "No Elyda today?"

"No," Gemma drawled. "Poor girl had a family emergency so I gave her the day off. I was hoping you might be able to give me a hand with him today as Chucky and I are pretty busy in the office," she lied for all she was worth. The truth was that Gemma had given her grandson's nanny the day off with pay as she had other plans for Abel in mind, like spending more quality bonding time with the Club medic.

Now that Jax had come clean regarding his relationship with Marlowe and the fact that she was staying in Charming, Gemma was hell bent on making sure that Marlowe formed a strong bond with her grandson. Although she had been warned by Jax not to interfere in how they conducted their developing relationship, the old lady figured that _technically_ she wasn't. She had no plans on interfering with Jax and Marlowe. Marlowe and Abel, however, was a different kettle of fish.

Although it had been two months since Tara Knowles' departure, Gemma knew that her grandson was still feeling the void of her absence in his life. Fortunately, Elyda (or "Lida" as Abel called her) had remained a constant in Abel's little world ever since Jax went to Stockton Prison and since his release. Although Abel had often asked for Tara during those first weeks after she left, he seemed to be mentioning her less and less since his introduction to Marlowe. And if Gemma had her way, Tara would soon be forgotten as Abel got to know Marlowe and started making memories with the woman she was sure would become Jax's old lady and mother to Abel.

But that was only part of the reasoning behind giving Elyda the day off. By so publicly placing her grandson in Marlowe's care, Gemma was hoping to send a message to all the hang-arounds and croweaters that only one woman on the lot had her official stamp of approval as old lady material.

"I don't mind at all," Marlowe replied smiling as she bounced Abel on her knee. "I'm free for the rest of the day." She lifted Abel up and set him down on his feet. "How about we hit the swings, buddy?"

Grinning at the success of her subtle manipulation, Gemma's brown eyes suddenly narrowed into irritated slits as her attention was drawn to a white BMW convertible as it peeled tires onto the lot. As the car pulled up near them and came to a screeching halt, Gemma grabbed her handbag and started rooting around for her gun.

"What the hell is she doing here?" she muttered as Marlowe watched a slim and underdressed blonde leap out of the driver's seat.

Not sure what bug had crawled up Gemma's ass, but pretty damn sure she knew what the matriarch was looking for, Marlowe stood up and stepped in front of Abel, cursing the fact that she had left the gun Jax had given her in the Clubhouse. Reaching down to her combat boot, she pulled out her KA-BAR, blocking Abel's view of her weapon as she stood next to Gemma. However, seeing the terrified look on the young blonde's face, Marlowe lowered her knife to her side.

"Help!" the blonde wailed. "Please! You have to hurry!"

"Bitch, what the fuck are you screaming about?" Gemma shouted as she held her gun up.

As said bitch ran around to the other side of the car, she threw the passenger door open wide enough for both women to see inside.

"Oh my God," Marlowe muttered. Shoving her knife back into place, she picked Abel up and handed him over to his grandmother. Running to the car, Marlowe stopped abruptly and swore foully as she looked down at the bloody heap of Lyla Winston curled into a ball.

"Get Abel out of here!" Marlowe ordered a wide-eyed Gemma as she crouched down beside Lyla and felt for a pulse. "And get Opie and Jax down here, fast."

* * *

Having sent an unhappy Abel off with Chucky to the office, Gemma was now pacing back and forth outside the Clubhouse. Looking at the time on her pre-pay, she swore loudly.

"God damn it! Where the fuck are they?" she said angrily.

"Calm down, will ya, Gem," Piney said gruffly as he wrapped an arm around her slender shoulders. "They were only up at the warehouse. They'll be here soon enough." Cocking his ear, the old biker nodded towards the gate's entrance. "See, here they come."

"It's about damn time," Gemma muttered as the barely-audible rumble of Harleys in the distance became louder and louder. Moments later, eight bikes pulled into the lot with Jax and Opie leading the pack. Not bothering to park their rides in their customary spots, Gemma watched as Opie, Jax and Happy hurriedly disembarked and rushed over to her.

"Thank God you're here," Gemma said fretfully as Opie nearly bowled her over in his anxiety.

"What the hell happened?" he asked anxiously, his dark green eyes focused on Gemma. "Where is she?"

"In your dorm, son," Piney answered for Gemma. "C'mon." Turning, Piney entered the Clubhouse as everyone followed, the group of bikers hurling questions at Gemma.

"I don't know anything," Gemma was finally able to say as they walked through the crowd of people silently waiting in the main room for news. "She hasn't been in any condition for much of anything except crying," she said as she squeezed Opie's bear paw of a hand, "and to call out for you, baby."

Coming to a stop in front of Opie's dorm, the door was wide open and Gemma motioned for the man she considered a son to go inside.

Taking a step over the threshold, Opie's eyes were wide with horror and disbelief as he took in Lyla's slight frame stretched out on the rumpled bed. Although covered by a thin blanket, it was clear that she had been stripped down to her underwear as he noted her clothes lying in a bloody heap at the foot of the bed. With the assistance of two croweaters, one gingerly wiping Lyla's face of grime and blood with a washcloth and the other handing Marlowe items from her open med kit as requested, the Club medic was completely focused on ministering to the keening woman when she realized they were no longer alone.

"Ope," Marlowe said quietly, gesturing with her head, "come on this side so she can see you." Not waiting to see if Opie did as he was told, Marlowe tried to get Lyla to focus her eyes on her. "Lyla, open your eyes. C'mon, look at me now," she said in a gently coaxing voice as the young woman's shoulders continued to shake from fear and pain. As terrified blue eyes that were leaking a stream of tears mixed with mascara finally looked up at her, Marlowe spoke slowly and calmly as the weight of Opie's body dipped the bed as he sat down next to his old lady.

"You're safe. Do you understand me, sweetheart?" Marlowe said soothingly. "You're safe now and at the Clubhouse."

"Opie," Lyla sobbed, unable to focus long enough to realize that Opie was sitting right in front of her. "I want my Opie!"

"I'm here, baby," Opie said his voice cracking with pain as he reached out tenderly to take her hand in his, the hand not currently bleeding and wrapped in a bloody towel.

"Ope!" Lyla gasped as she tried to turn into him. "Opie!"

"Lyla, don't move," Marlowe cautioned. "You have to keep still."

As Lyla's grip tightened on her old man's hand, Marlowe could see the tears falling down his cheeks and into his beard as he took inventory of every bruise, cut, burn and abrasion on her face and any exposed skin. "Ah baby," he said brokenly as he pulled her hand up to kiss it gently. "It's gonna be all right, baby. I promise."

Stepping away from the couple momentarily, Marlowe crossed her arms over her chest as she looked up and saw the SAMCRO Pres and his SAA on the other side of the bed. Noting the combination of cold-blooded anger and pain on their faces, Marlowe let her eyes wander to the group of silent, yet angry bikers crowding the door and the hallway. Although it was another typically warm summer day, Marlowe felt a chill run up her spine as one thing became glaringly clear.

_Whoever did this is going to pay._

* * *

The main room of the Clubhouse was silent now that it had been cleared of mechanics, hang-arounds and croweaters. The only ones remaining were the Club, Gemma, Lyla's friend Ima, and several Prospects who were quietly serving up another round of hard liquor.

Making her way from the dorms to the main room, Marlowe was the last to join the impromptu gathering and gratefully accepted a shot of tequila from Ratboy as she rounded the bar. Throwing the contents of the glass down her throat, Marlowe slammed the shot glass on the bar top. "Keep 'em coming until I pass out, Rat," she said somewhat seriously. Having seen her fair share of fucked-up shit, nothing could have prepared her for what she had just dealt with.

"Hey, Doc," Opie started, rising from the table he had been sitting at with Jax, Happy and Chibs. "How is she?"

Although grateful that Opie had been able to calm Lyla down with his presence, Marlowe had cleared the room about ninety minutes before in order to see to the worst of her wounds. Marlowe could see that the SAMCRO VP was still extremely agitated and she was already dreading answering the inevitable questions that would be asked of her.

Marlowe walked across to him and gently placed her hand on his arm. "Would you rather talk privately?" she asked, hoping he'd say yes.

Instead, Opie shook his head grimly. "I can't expect to have my brothers backing me unless they know what they're dealing with."

Jax stood up. "Ope, brother, we'll back you no matter what. Maybe you two _should_ speak privately," he suggested.

Opie shook his head again. "Just give it to me straight, Doc. I'm sure the shit circulating my brain is way worse than the reality, right? It has to be."

Grabbing Jax's now-empty chair, Marlowe eased herself onto it as she gently pulled Opie down into his seat. "She's stable. I hooked her up to an I.V. with a glucose bag and a painkiller that also works as a mild sedative. She should be out for a few hours," she started explaining.

"What did they do to her?" Opie asked through gritted teeth as if preparing himself for the worst.

Marlowe took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "It was pretty bad, Ope. She has bruising and lacerations consistent with a beating. She may have a couple of broken ribs, but I can't know for sure without an x-ray, but I wrapped her up just in case. She has bite marks and burns on her breasts, backside . . ." she hesitated as she tried to control the emotion in her voice. She could have kissed Jax when he handed her another shot of tequila.

"Take it easy, babe," he soothed her as Marlowe downed the shot.

Taking another deep breath, Marlowe charged forwards. "She has bite marks and burns on her breasts, backside and genital area. Her pinky's broken on her right hand and she's missing the tip of her index finger on that hand as well. It looks like it was bitten off. I stopped the bleeding, but unless she's taken to the hospital, I'm going to have to cauterize it. And she'll probably need some dental work," she explained softly. Lowering her voice even further, Marlowe leaned into Ope and said, "She'll have to be tested for STDs and HIV—"

"Jesus Christ!" Marlowe heard Jax mutter under his breath.

Opie closed his eyes as his best friend gripped his shoulder tightly in support. Taking a few moments to gather his thoughts, Opie finally opened his eyes and addressed Marlowe. "Did she say how it happened?"

Jax's brow furrowed as he noted Marlowe's confusion and distress as she prepared to answer. "She said she was working. Filming with a new studio."

Opie suddenly paled under his beard as his fists clenched and unclenched in his lap. Feeling like the messenger that was about to get hers, Marlowe flinched as Opie jumped out of his seat with a growl. As he tossed the table aside, Marlowe found herself being pulled out of her chair and into Jax's arms as Opie tore across the room and reached out to snatch the woman Marlowe had learned was named Ima by her neck with one hand. Lifting her up off the ground, the man known as SAMCRO's gentle giant shook the 95-lb woman as if she were nothing more than a rag doll.

"Tell me what you did, porn slut, before I slit your damn throat!" he roared into her reddening face.

Suddenly tossed aside and knocking into Gemma, Marlowe watched as Jax, Happy and numerous other brothers had to physically restrain Opie in order to remove Ima from his chokehold. Collapsing onto the floor, Ima struggled to get air into her lungs as tears ran down her cheeks. Allowed only a brief respite, Ima had barely been able to catch her breath when Jax pulled her onto her feet. Grabbing her shoulders, he gave her a good shake.

"Start talking, you stupid whore," Jax growled menacingly. "Before I beat Opie to it and snap your neck like a fuckin' twig."

Stumbling over her words at first, and then gaining momentum, Ima's body shook as she explained how she had taken Lyla to a shoot in Stockton. "I told her I would stick around," she babbled, "to check on her, you know? When I went inside," Ima shuddered uncontrollably. "It was horrible. Two men were holding Ly down and she was screaming at the third one to get off of her, but he punched her in the face until she stopped squirming. They were burning her with cigars and cutting her with box cutters, so I pulled out my gun and shot off a couple of rounds. I don't even know how I was able to get her out of there," she cried piteously. "I didn't know it was torture and rape porn, I swear. I was told it was fetish and light bondage. Lyla said she was desperate for money so I hooked her up through a friend of a friend."

Breaking through the crowd of kuttes, Opie had to be physically restrained by Chibs in order to keep him from grabbing hold of Ima again. "Liar! She could have come to me for money!" he thundered.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Marlowe watched as a bolt of righteous anger blazed in Ima's cornflower blue eyes. "NOT IF SHE NEEDED THE MONEY TO GET AWAY FROM YOU!" she screamed at the top of her lungs. "She knows you don't love her any more," she finished, breathing heavily.

Ima's accusation rang throughout the Clubhouse with the revelation of his dirty laundry hitting Opie like a blow to the face. As Opie visibly sagged in Chibs embrace, the force of the ham-fist that slammed dead center on his face was so unexpected that it knocked him out of the Scotsman's grasp and onto the ground. Looking up, stunned Opie saw his father standing over him, glaring down angrily, disappointed in his son.

"Your first old lady dying wasn't your fault, but if anything happens to Lyla, you've got no one to blame but yourself," Piney spit out righteously. "Your bullshit nearly got her killed, so you better get your shit together unless you want to end up old and alone, you stupid fool!" the old man roared before shoving his way through the throng of bodies and headed for the exit door.

* * *

**Glossary** **:**

**Verdad que si: loosely translated, "Am I right?"**


	43. Chapter 43

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sons of Anarchy. I do, however, own Marlowe and any other OCs that appear in the 2 Sons Universe.**

* * *

**_Monday, August 2, 2010_ **

Exiting the small bathroom in her dorm, Marlowe made her way over to the slight figure sitting on the edge of her bed. Ima, covered in her own blood as well as Lyla's, had her head tilted towards the ceiling in an effort to stop her nose from bleeding. With a sigh, Marlowe pulled the woman's hand away from her face in order to remove the sodden bar towel she had improvised using in order to soak up the copious amount of blood coming from the broken nose.

"Damn, I guess it doesn't pay getting on Gemma's bad side, does it?" Marlowe asked rhetorically, noting that the bleeding seemed to be slowing down. "I've heard she's broken a couple of noses before, but I sure as hell wasn't expecting to see that shit live and in person."

"You and me both," Ima replied irritably as she focused her red-rimmed eyes on the tall and insanely ripped woman standing over her. "She is one certified crazy-ass bitch, I'll tell ya that much."

With all the drama involving a severely beaten and injured Lyla, the last thing Marlowe had expected to witness was a couple of almost-simultaneous beat-downs aimed at Opie and Ima.

Although his target had been his own son, Marlowe hadn't been surprised that Piney Winston had been compelled to do what he had done. Over the months, she had come to know and respect the cantankerous and hard-drinking old biker and it was obvious that he had a soft spot for his new daughter-in-law.

According to Kozik, Opie's first wife and the mother of his children had been much loved and had died tragically. In spite of his efforts to move on, however, Opie still grieved for her and it was having a negative effect on his relationship with Lyla. As a matter of fact, she had learned from both Kozik and Tig that the VP's second marriage had been on the rocks almost as soon as they had exchanged "I do's".

Knowing about their marriage woes and witnessing first-hand the injuries suffered by Lyla made this whole situation heart-breaking enough. It saddened Marlowe further to see father and son so torn apart by their own pain and grief for Lyla that the only way they could express themselves was through further violence.

Unfortunately for Ima, Piney hadn't been the only one who deemed outlaw justice not only appropriate, but justified in this situation in particular. The SAMCRO matriarch had used the ruckus created by Piney as a distraction, making her own displeasure known by slamming an unsuspecting Ima face-first onto the bar top before stalking off to see to the needs of her grandson.

Momentarily distracted by the can of whup ass Gemma had suddenly opened up and the wailing young woman now sporting a bloody and banged up face, the roomful of patches promptly ignored Ima, focusing their attention once again on Opie, whose ego had probably suffered more of a beating than his face had. Marlowe, however, found herself feeling sympathy for Lyla's rescuer-slash-bearer of bad news. As the men continued to gather around their fallen brother to commiserate with him over his old lady, Marlowe had quietly grabbed a bar towel to gently press against Ima's nose and a small bucket filled with ice.

Noting the slightly affronted look on Jax's face as she ministered to the porn star, Marlowe figured she was probably in for an ear blistering later courtesy of the SAMCRO Pres for not jumping to Opie's aid. Ignoring his heated look, Marlowe had helped Ima onto her feet and with her arm around her shoulders, guided Ima towards the dorms. Content in the knowledge that Chibs was seeing to the VP's minor injuries, Marlowe blithely stalked past Jax as she answered her calling by helping those truly in need of her assistance.

Now, dragging the dorm's sole chair from its location by the desk, Marlowe turned it around and straddled it to face Ima. She handed her an ice pack and watched as Ima gingerly placed it on her face, hissing as the cold made its impact.

"Gemma is a tough old lady. She doesn't take too kindly to having the people she loves getting hurt on her watch," Marlowe stated. "Looks like she blames you for what happened."

Ima removed the pack to angrily jut her chin out at Marlowe. "And you? You blame me too? You think just because I suck dick and eat pussy for a living that I somehow deserved it?" she said bitterly and was totally surprised by the medic's reply.

"Not at all. Actually, I think Gemma was out of line," Marlowe replied soberly, "but don't tell her I said so. I'd hate for her to try that shit on me. As it is, I think I'm already in the shithouse with the Pres. Knocking his mother onto her well-toned ass probably won't win me any brownie points."

Ima stared at Marlowe. Blinking once, then twice, she suddenly snorted with laughter and then moaned as pain reverberated through her face. "Shit! Don't make me laugh. It hurts too fuckin' much."

The unexpected humor had actually brightened Ima's face prettily in spite of her swollen nose. In that moment, the jaded and overly made up porn star resembled a pretty young girl playing dress up in her mother's closet. In reality, Marlowe noted morosely, Ima was just one of the many young girls trapped in a world where sex and violence went hand-in-hand. But then again, Marlowe figured that the sweet girl-next-door look was probably a trademark in her line of work.

"Then I'm sorry to say you probably won't be laughing all that much for a couple of weeks," Marlowe started. "Your nose is definitely broken. We have to get the swelling down before I tape you up and I can already see the makings of a pretty wicked black eye."

"Fuck! Are you kidding me?!" Ima squealed as she hastily got up to dash over to the small mirror sitting on the desk. "Well, that's just fuckin' perfect, ain't it?" she said a little dismally. "This is what I get for trying to help a friend. I get fucked in the ass!" Returning to the bed, Ima dejectedly plopped down in front of Marlowe. "Dondo is gonna kill me."

"Dondo? Is that your manager?" Marlowe asked, feeling somewhat disingenuous by using "manager" instead of "pimp".

"Producer-slash-Director actually," Ima sighed. "I mean, Dondo's not as bad as others in the biz. He got his start in front of the camera too, so I know he would cut me some slack if he could. Thing is, I'm supposed to start a new film next week _and_ I have a wrap party this weekend, but here I am looking like some sideshow freak," she lamented. Pushing some locks of blonde hair matted with her blood behind her ear, Ima shrugged her shoulders with a slight frown on her face. "I guess I have no real right to complain. Lyla's the one that really got fucked up." Ima looked up at Marlowe. "Is she really gonna be all right?"

Marlowe nodded. "Physically, it's going to take a minute, but she'll heal. It's amazing what the body is capable of recovering from. Emotionally, I can't say. What happened to her was some of the most horrific shit I've ever seen first-hand. She must have been pretty desperate for money to take a chance like that."

With the ice pack back on her nose, Ima gave a slight eye roll. "I'm not an expert on relationships or nothing, but even I could tell Lyla was miserable being married. She wanted out and fast. I told her to just chill, try talking Dondo into renewing her contract and bank up some dough before she bailed—" Ima trailed off and then tightened her lips, "but that's not my story to tell."

"No worries," Marlowe assured her. "Besides, from what I heard out there, I think I can connect the dots. Sounds to me like you were just trying to help out a friend and it backfired."

Ima had a look of disbelief plastered on her face as the ice pack slipped from her grip and landed on her lap. "Why are you being so nice to me?" she asked guardedly, her tone defiant.

"Uh, why wouldn't I be?" Marlowe replied truly perplexed. "We've only just met."

"Because I'm _porn pussy_ , which means I'm not exactly A-list material around here. Maybe you didn't notice, but I'm not too popular with the SAMCRO Queen and I certainly wasn't popular at all with Jax's snooty bitch of an old lady," Ima responded defiantly. " _Not_ that I cared to be, believe me. Who gives a fuck about a pair of judgmental bitches, anyway? They deserved each other."

Detecting some hurt in Ima's rebellious tone of voice, Marlowe's eyebrows arched slightly. _For someone that doesn't give a fuck, she sure sounds like she gives a fuck_.

Marlowe shrugged her shoulders. "Call me crazy then, but I try to judge people on their character, not what they do for a living. My mom was a stripper _and_ a piece of shit, but I learned from meeting a lot of her co-workers that the two don't necessarily go together."

"For real?" Ima asked eyeing her suspiciously. "Well, that's a first. I thought all the old ladies 'round here had the same holier-than-thou attitude towards women like me."

Marlowe chuckled. " 'All old ladies', huh? Well, I'm no one's old lady." She watched as Ima raised an eyebrow and flashed her a snarky grin.

"Really?" Ima drawled and, crossing a bare leg over a knee, struck a conspiratorial pose. "That's not what I heard. Ly told me that ever since Dr. Snooty Bitch hit the bricks that you and Jax have been hooking up." As Marlowe's gray eyes narrowed and flashed, Ima put her hands up in submission. "Oh, man, lady. Are you gonna jack my ass up too?"

The corner of Marlowe's mouth twitched for a moment before curving into a grin. "I guess that wouldn't be right considering you're pretty fucked up already."

"Thank you!" Ima retorted gratefully. "Glad someone 'round here noticed. It wouldn't be the first time I got fucked up by a Teller or a friend thereof, however and I'm sure it won't be the last," she sniffed and winced as she brought the ice pack back to her face, missing Marlowe's puzzled expression.

"You mean this is not the first time Gemma's pasted one on you?" she asked incredulously.

Ima shook her head. "Not _her. Him._ Jax," she clarified.

"Jax . . . hit you?"

 _My Jax?_ Marlowe frowned inwardly.

"Yeah. Led my ass on too," Ima said, sighing wistfully. "I really thought he was itching to hook up with me again. Instead of getting laid, though, all I got was a world of hurt."

"Sounds like an interesting story," Marlowe countered soberly, hoping that the young woman would elaborate and was rewarded.

"Well, at the time it sucked ass," Ima said candidly. "Looking back, I kinda brought that shit down on myself."

Marlowe smirked derisively. "Someone hits _you_ and you blame yourself for somehow _deserving_ it?"

Ima sighed a little ruefully. "Let's just say that from the first time my eyes landed on him, I was hell-bent on getting me some of Jax Teller. I pretty much pushed up on him every chance I got until he delivered, _royally_ ," Ima wriggled her eyebrows lecherously. "I mean, hell, you've been with the man and sampled his goods, haven't you?" She grinned as she saw Marlowe's shoulders shake with laughter.

_I like this one. She's not uptight like Dr. Snooty Bitch._

"Yeah, I most definitely have _sampled his goods_ on occasion," Marlowe replied with a shit-eating grin.

"Then you _know_ what the man's working with. He would've made a hell of a porn star. He's pretty and has a rock hard body, but with _that_ dick, it wouldn't matter if he was short and fat. And damn! He can go all night too, huh?" Ima gushed enthusiastically.

Marlowe chuckled. "Okay, I get it. I've been there."

_Jax the Biker Porn Star. Can't wait to tell him._

"Anyway," Ima continued, "I finally got him to give me a ride, but his bitch of an old lady walked in on us and totally shit on the afterglow. It was a seriously awkward moment, ya know, but I figured I got off easy when she walked out without trying to slice my tits off, which didn't really surprise me. She definitely scares off easy. I sent her ass running off once before at one of our wrap parties." Ima paused, remembering how Jax had run after Tara and the seriously awkward moment _she_ had suffered when she found them having sex in the bathroom. " _Anyway_ , I'm leaving the Clubhouse and the next thing I know, Ly slaps the taste outta my mouth!" Ima grumbled. "We didn't speak for weeks, which wasn't easy considering we were doing girl-on-girl for _The Saffron Sorority Sister_ s series. Ly was supposed to be _my_ friend. The Snooty Bitch looked down her nose at the both of us, so that shit really pissed me off. You ever been betrayed like that by a friend?"

"Only if you consider Uncle Sam a friend," Marlowe replied with a self-deprecating smirk. Ima titled her head to the side and gave her a look as if she had forgotten how to understand English. "Never mind. Go on," she coaxed.

"Yeah, well, we ended up making up 'cause girls like us have to stick together. Besides, getting slapped by Lyla was nothing compared to what happened a few months ago." In a few brief sentences, Ima shared how things had gone south the morning after an overnight visit with a patch from the Tacoma charter shortly after Jax's release from Stockton. "It was a stupid thing to do, but I pulled a gun on Jax's mom and old lady because I really thought I was about to catch an epic beat down," Ima insisted. "I'm sure his bitch of an old lady pushed Jax into paying me a visit. He made it pretty clear too that I was no longer welcomed around the Clubhouse by bouncing my face off my dressing room table, so I've stayed away since. I wouldn't be here today if it wasn't for Lyla."

Somewhat stunned by what she was hearing, Marlowe reminded herself to keep an open mind as she hadn't heard Jax's side of the story yet. "If that's the case, why didn't you just take Lyla straight to the hospital, leave her there and then call the Club?"

Ima pursed her lips and nodded. "I thought about it, but you and I both know this shit won't go unanswered. The Club's gonna want retaliation against the assholes that did this to Ly and taking her to the hospital would have involved the cops. I'm sure the Club wouldn't appreciate the heat that would bring and that _I_ would get blamed for. Bringing her here may have cost me getting choked out and a broken nose, but I still think I got off easy, you know?" she replied honestly.

Marlowe nodded her head. "Smart move. Good looking out for you _and_ the Club."

Ima shrugged her shoulders at the praise. "That and maybe there was the lingering hope that Jax would let bygones be bygones. With the snooty bitch out of the picture, I thought we might get cozy again, but getting a good look at you now, I think I should just let that ship sail," she said honestly. " _Unless_ , of course, you two are done kicking it," she added a little hopefully.

_Damn! Chick got tagged by both mother and son and she still wants to nail his ass. Jax sure has something that can make a woman forget some truly heinous shit._

Marlowe crossed her arms and casually rested them against the back of the chair. "Let's set shit straight between us so there's no confusion going forward, okay? I am _not_ Jax Teller's old lady, but he is most definitely _mine_. Maybe Lyla hasn't told you, but I spent the last ten years in the Navy as a battlefield medic. The only thing you need to remember, however, and maybe pass along to your friends, is that even though I'm not a sniper, I can still take a subject out with a rifle from at least 200 yards. In other words, steer clear of Jax Teller or you'll never see the bullet coming," Marlowe said with such an engaging smile that Ima couldn't decide if she was being serious or not.

"Um, okay," Ima drawled. "Guess there's no chance of scaring you off, is there?"

Marlowe shook her head. "Nope, not likely."

"Fine," Ima conceded defeat. "But you really can't blame a girl for trying."

* * *

**_Tuesday, August 3, 2010—Early Morning_ **

Lyla struggled to open her eyes as she slowly came up to the surface from a deep, drug-induced sleep. The sedative Marlowe had given her had Lyla feeling disoriented, almost as if she were floating above the bed and not lying on it. The anxiety she was feeling was not unlike coming down from a coke-induced high and it was hard to decipher whether she was really awake or still trapped in an endless series of nightmares where, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't escape her vicious tormentors.

With one eye swollen shut, the other crusted over with sleep, and the room in pitch darkness, Lyla could barely make out the slivers of moonlight coming through the window treatments. Blinking her good eye rapidly, she was finally able to focus on the thin blades of light falling across the large figure sitting motionless in a chair in the corner of the room.

"Who—" Lyla's voice cracked, her throat parched from thirst and her mouth feeling as if full of cotton balls. "Who's there?" She watched with wide, terrified eyes as the figure stirred, only to relax when she finally recognized the broad shoulders of her old man.

"It's just me, baby," Opie said, his voice hoarse and hardly recognizable to his own ears as he approached the bed. Lyla's moans were filled with pain as she struggled to sit upright in the bed. Moving quickly, Opie sat beside her and placed large but gentle hands on her shoulders to settle her back down on the pillows. "Don't move, baby," he whispered, lifting a hand to softly tousle her normally wavy blonde curls, which were limp and dank with sweat, the downy soft hair at the hairline stained with her own blood. "You need to keep still."

"I'm thirsty, Ope," Lyla croaked.

Switching on the lamp on the night stand, illuminating the bedroom in a soft light, Opie picked up the sports bottle filled with ice water he had set aside earlier in anticipation of her waking up. He held the straw within easy reach of her mouth and Lyla winced as she parted her cracked lips but, managing to latch on, drank thirstily as with one eye she took in her old man's haggard appearance.

Seemingly overnight, Opie looked as if he had aged ten years. His brow was creased with worry lines, his pale face permanently set in a mask of concern. His reddish brown hair, usually tied back with a strip of black leather, was loose, unkempt and rumpled. His dark green eyes were heavy with the worry made evident in his every look and every touch as if, like a porcelain doll, she would shatter into pieces if not handled gently.

Finally nodding that she was done, Lyla watched her old man place the bottle on the table. With her thirst now quenched, she asked, "Is Marlowe still here?"

"Yeah, she's prolly in Jax's dorm," Opie replied softly, his shoulders suddenly tensing with a start as a thought occurred. "Are you in pain? Do you need me to get her in here?" he asked anxiously.

Looking down at herself, Lyla took stock of the many dressings and bandages covering various wounds, burns and bite marks. Her tongue tentatively probed the gaping hole where her two front teeth used to be as the binding wrapped around her mid-section not only stabilized her broken ribs but also prevented her from taking anything more than shallow breaths of air. Gingerly raising her right hand, heavily bandaged to protect her mutilated index finger and broken pinky, Lyla gazed at it as if realizing its existence for the first time in her life. She shuddered knowing that the best she could probably hope for was looking like an ugly crone and not some hideous monster once her injuries healed. It seemed, however, that Lyla had been granted one small mercy as whatever pain she was feeling was relatively minor.

"No, I'm good for now. Those painkillers she gave me must really be top-shelf," she said with a soft lisp.

"Marley went a little heavy on those so she could take care of the worst of your wounds while you were sedated," he gestured at her right hand, suppressing the shudder that threatened to run down his spine as he remembered watching the Club medic cauterize Lyla's finger. "She was up all night watching over you and I practically had to chase her out of here a little while ago, but I'm sure she'll be by soon enough to check up on you," he speculated with a soft smile.

"I think she may have saved my life, Ope," Lyla stated, her bottom lip trembling with emotion. "I don't know if I'll ever be able to thank her enough for what she's done for me."

"We're _both_ indebted to her," Opie replied in agreement. As far as he was concerned, after what Marlowe had done for his old lady, she was as good as family to him personally. He would forever owe her a debt of gratitude for probably giving him a second chance with his old lady.

Opie watched in silence as Lyla's shoulders hunched in on themselves as she seemed lost in thought. Finally, looking at him once again with her good eye, she asked in a slightly panicked voice, "How are the kids? Did someone pick Piper up from his day camp yesterday?"

"Of course, baby. I picked him up myself," Opie assured her with a gentle smile. "The kids are fine and staying with Mary in Galt. I told them you were under quarantine for chicken pox." He shrugged his shoulders when she eyed him horrified. "It was the only excuse I could come up with to explain to Piper why he couldn't be around you for a while. He's worried about you, but I told him you're fine and would give him a call as soon as you felt like talking. It'll buy us some time so that you can heal a little and we can figure out what else to tell them."

Lyla chuckled bitterly. "Good because I don't think they'll buy chicken pox as the reason why I lost part of my finger _and_ my eye-teeth," she said, feeling demoralized. In her misguided attempt to make what she thought would be a fresh start for her and her son, she ended up feeling like a failure for making things worse for everyone. "Maybe we can tell them I got a flesh-eating virus or something," she suggested ruefully. "Anything's better than telling them the truth, that their mother's a fuckin' idiot," she blubbered as tears streamed unbidden down her face.

Finding herself suddenly and gently gathered into Opie's embrace, Lyla looked up to see that her old man was weeping as well. "No, baby," Opie started, tears falling from mournful eyes. "Their mother's not the fuckin' idiot. Their old man is. This shit is all on _me_."

Stretching her good arm to wrap around her old man's burly neck, Lyla trembled from the pain of her broken ribs as she sobbed into the crook of his neck. Almost afraid to wrap his arms around her fragile frame, Opie cradled her against his chest as she cried, barely making out what she was saying.

"Stop, babe, please," he pleaded brokenly.

"I can't," she cried. "Everything I touch turns to shit."

"That's not true, Lyla," Opie assured her. "Had it not been for the porn pussy—"

"Don't blame Ima, Ope. She was just trying to help me out of a jam. If she hadn't come back to check on me," Lyla shuddered in his arms. "There might not have been much of me left to patch up," she whispered.

"I know," he admitted. "She told us as much . . . and the reason why you needed the cash."

Lyla raised her head up from his chest to look him in the eye. "I'm sorry, Ope," she said miserably. "I just didn't know what to do any more. I can't live like this . . . feeling like I don't even exist for you. We just got married, but instead of acting like newlyweds, I've never felt more alone in my life. After you left the last time, when you found the birth control, it just seemed like there was no way left to fix us, so I decided to bail. Fighting with you is hard enough. Fighting against your memories of your dead wife is just fuckin' impossible."

Watching as Opie hung his head, unable to look her in the face, Lyla licked her dry lips. Deciding that it was finally time to man up and ask the question that had been burning on her tongue ever since they got engaged, she placed her hand on his bearded chin and tilted his head up to face her.

"Did you ever love me, Ope? _Really_ love me? Or was I always just a poor substitute for the real love of your life?"

Opie let his head fall again in shame as he heard the wistfulness and hurt in his old lady's voice. It was obvious that Lyla's self-esteem had taken a beating and that it had been all his fault. He gently pulled away from her so that he could cup her battered face in his large hands. "I did love you, Lyla," he insisted. "And I love you now, baby. I just have a really crappy way of showing it."

"Then why do you shut me out, Ope?" Lyla nearly begged him. "Why keep me at arm's length, not letting me in when all I want is to be a good old lady for you? I have so much love in my heart to give to you and Ellie and Kenny, why won't you let me?"

Opie inhaled deeply and exhaled with a shudder. "Maybe because deep down I know that I don't deserve you, Lyla. I don't deserve a second chance at happiness after . . . after failing Donna so miserably. She wanted nothing to do with the Life, but instead of keeping my promises to her by leaning right, I tried to find a balance between my family and the Club and when I couldn't, she paid with her life."

"That wasn't your fault, Ope," Lyla insisted.

"Wasn't it, though?" Opie replied mournfully. "I failed her, Lyla, and by not learning from my mistakes, I've failed you too. A brother once told me that in order for shit to work out with an old lady there had to be full disclosure. I didn't have that with Donna. It was mainly her choice, but I knew what this life could do to an old lady. I saw what it did to my own mother, so I failed Donna by not preparing her. Just like I failed you by not sharing with you what was in my heart. Maybe if I had let you see how much I really love you and how much I want a good life with you and the kids, you wouldn't have felt so alone and you wouldn't have felt the need to run from me. I was blind and stupid for not seeing that sooner."

Lyla gazed up at her old man in wonder. It was the first time in their relationship that he had truly opened up to her.

 _But what if it's already too late_ , Lyla lamented inwardly.

"You weren't alone in the blind and stupid department, Ope. I knew we had issues that needed resolution _before_ we got married, but I was too afraid—" Lyla stopped short.

"Afraid of what, baby?"

"Of losing you," Lyla replied with fresh tears falling down her cheeks. "I was afraid that if I brought up Donna that would somehow force you to say some shit I didn't want to hear and I'd end up losing the best thing that's happened to me since Piper was born. I was afraid that you'd realize that you were still in love with your late wife and could never really love someone like me who is so unlike her. I'd end up losing you, Kenny and Ellie, and Piper would lose the only real father and family he's ever known. Instead, I let those doubts fester and my resentment grew and the next thing I knew, the only way we could communicate was by fighting all the time. I figured it was best if I just left before one of us ended up killing the other." She managed a wry grin as Opie lifted an inquiring eyebrow. "Hey, I may be small, but I'm feisty," she teased.

"I've noticed," Opie smiled. "How is it possible that Marlowe's already rubbing off on ya?"

"It's not _just_ Marlowe. Life can only kick you so many times while you're down before you get up and start kicking back," Lyla responded. "Unfortunately, if only I had started kicking back sooner, maybe we wouldn't have managed to epically fuck up our relationship."

"We _have_ done pretty badly, huh?" Opie asked grimly and watched her nod in agreement. "But that doesn't mean we have to _stay_ that way," he said with conviction in his voice. "I need you to understand, baby, that your family—me and the Club—we're gonna do whatever it takes to make the fuckers that hurt you pay for what they did," he promised and he could already see her face glowing with gratitude, relief and love. Her functioning eye widened in shock, however, at Opie's final promise. "Once that shit's over and done with, I'm not going anywhere and neither are you and we're gonna figure our shit out together."

* * *

It had been close to three o'clock in the morning when Opie had finally convinced Marlowe to go get some rest. Instead, she had gone looking for Jax only to find his dorm empty and his bike gone from its usual spot outside the Clubhouse. Considering that he had seemed none too happy with her, Marlowe figured it was probably for the best that he hadn't been around.

Returning to her own dorm and suddenly feeling bone-tired, Marlowe had stripped out of her blood-stained clothes and crawled into bed. Quickly passing out, she estimated she had slept a solid two hours before her own tossing and turning woke her up. Ima was right. SAMCRO would soon start planning for retaliation and somehow Marlowe's body and mind knew to prepare itself for whatever mayhem might follow by slipping into military mode. During active duty in Afghanistan, it wasn't unusual for her to work 18-hour shifts for days on end, managing to get at most a couple hours of sleep at a clip.

With sleep evading her and Jax avoiding her, Marlowe had jumped out of bed and into her PT sweats. Whatever tension she was feeling would ease and dissipitate once she started running. Endorphins were her go-to drug whenever shit was threatening to go sideways. It cleared her mind as well as made her body stronger.

By the time she returned to the Clubhouse from her 5-mile run, the sun had risen and her stomach was grumbling. Feeling grungy, dirty and sweaty, however, she decided to take a shower first before going on the hunt for sustenance.

Now, turning off the shower, Marlowe stepped out of the stall and onto the dark blue bath mat. Quickly drying her hair, she wrapped her long locks in the towel she had used, twisting it into a turban on her head before grabbing another larger one to wrap around her body. Washing away the blood and sweat she had managed to accumulate since the day before was doing wonders for her physically, but it mentally cheered her up as well. War might be hell but after tending to Lyla and then her friend Ima, Marlowe had started to believe that she would never know what it was like to feel clean again.

Picking up her rose-scented body lotion and hairbrush from the edge of the sink, Marlowe opened the bathroom door, letting out the foggy steam from her shower as cool air courtesy of the central air conditioning greeted her from the other side. Stopping abruptly, Marlowe leaned against the doorframe as she came face-to-face with the SAMCRO Pres sitting on her bed smoking a cigarette.

Jax's sudden appearance caught her slightly off guard as she had not seen his bike on the lot when she returned from her run. Noting how casually he was resting against the headboard with his kutte neatly folded on her desk chair, it almost seemed like he had been there the whole time. If not for the pissy look on his face and the fact that he was enjoying one of his dreadful cancer sticks in her dorm, she might have been pleasantly surprised. However, it was glaringly obvious that Jax was still none too happy with her and looking to piss her off as well.

"Hey," Marlowe greeted with a smile, deciding that she would downplay his foul mood by not acknowledging it. "I didn't know you were in here. I'm kinda disappointed you didn't join me in the shower," she said with a slight pout.

Taking a deep drag from his cigarette, Jax let out a large plume of gray-blue smoke. Tilting his head to the side, he gazed at her with what could only be described as a dark look that marred his handsome face.

 _Yup, his dick's tied up in a knot_ , Marlowe determined, figuring that having sided with the "enemy" instead of rushing to Opie's aid probably had a lot to do with it.

Having received only a dirty look in response to her greeting, Marlowe smirked as she tossed her lotion and hairbrush on the desk and crossed her arms over her chest. "Oh boy, considering that the temperature just dropped like twenty degrees in here I would offer to leave you alone except that you're in _my_ room," she snarked. "So, it's 7:00 in the morning and I'm guessing you're here for one of two reasons. Since you didn't join me in the shower, I'm going with you're pissed and here to tell me why. So what's on your mind, Pres?"

"I think you know," came Jax's terse reply as he stubbed out his smoke in the ashtray he had set next to him on the bed.

Marlowe arched an eyebrow. "Really? You're bent out of shape because instead of running to Opie—"

"You ran to the porn pussy?" he finished grimly. "Yeah, I'm 'bent out of shape' about that."

Jax watched as Marlowe walked towards him. Although in his mind he was justifiably annoyed at her, the rest of him had no choice but to brazenly admire the sexy picture she made fresh and still wet from her shower with her long, lithe body wrapped in just a towel. Reaching the bed, she sat down next to him.

"I get that, Jax," Marlowe conceded. "After all, you did hire me to look after the Club's medical needs first."

"That's right," he replied, suddenly finding his anger again after pushing away his desire to fuck her.

Marlowe crossed her arms over her chest. "And I would have too had Piney's punch caused more damage than just a fat lip and swollen jaw," she retorted curtly. "I know you saw what Gemma did to Ima. She broke her nose and the poor girl was gushing buckets of blood."

"Oh I saw, darlin'," Jax responded heatedly. "Did I give a shit? Not really. If you ask me, the stupid whore had one coming from Gemma."

Marlowe pulled the towel off her head in order to run frustrated hands through her damp hair. "You mean for pulling the gun on both her and Tara?"

Jax looked more shocked than incredulous as he realized that Marlowe probably knew more than he would have wanted her to. "So she told you? I'm assuming she didn't stop there, not after finding a sympathetic ear."

It was all Marlowe could do to keep herself from rolling her eyes at his sarcasm. "If you're referring to what happened _after_ between the two of you, yes, she told me," Marlowe acknowledged.

"Of course she did," Jax scoffed angrily.

"She wasn't playing the victim card, Jax, if that's what you think. As a matter of fact, she took responsibility for her part in the events leading up to your _last encounter_ ," Marlowe stated sedately. "So, was she lying about what she says happened between you two?"

Rubbing his face with his hands, Jax pulled them away and looked Marlowe square in the eye. "What did she tell you? That I came on to her just to get her alone in her dressing room and, that once I did, I slammed her face into a table before threatening her to stay away from my family and my Club?" he related in a voice that was so disconcerting in its calmness all Marlowe could bring herself to do was nod. "No," Jax shook his head. "She wasn't lying."

Seeing the look of disappointment on Marlowe's face almost felt like a punch to his gut. Although Jax had been called out before by Tara on the way the Club treated its women, especially the hang-arounds, it was the first time that Jax truly felt a measure of remorse about his own actions against Ima.

"Look," Marlowe started quietly. "I'm sure that had Ima pulled that gun on me, she would have been knocked out cold. Only difference is _I_ would have done it, _not_ you," she said adamantly. "I don't expect the Club to change how they treat women, but you can't expect me not to react when something doesn't set right with me, Jax. What happened to Lyla—"

"Was Ima's fault," Jax interrupted stubbornly.

"Not from where I'm standing, outlaw," Marlowe retorted. "I like Opie, I really do, and I respect the friendship you two have, but that doesn't stop me from analyzing the shit out of what I saw and heard today. That situation Lyla fell into happened in large part _because_ of Opie."

She watched as Jax angrily jumped off the bed to tower over her. Refusing to cower, Marlowe stood as well. "So you're blaming Ope for what happened to his old lady?"

"I'm not in the business of dishing out blame, Jax, but at the same time, I'm not going to tell you what you want to hear just to make you feel better, especially not in this case," Marlowe replied honestly. "She may be nothing but 'porn pussy' to you and your brothers, but when it mattered, Ima didn't bail on Lyla. Instead, she went in there with one gun and no back up and got Lyla out of there. Considering that she's barely 100 pounds soaking wet, it tells me that she cared enough to risk her own neck for a friend. If she hadn't, chances are Opie might have been called to some morgue to identify his wife's body. And in spite of any bad blood between the two of you, Ima brought Lyla here instead of the hospital, saving the Club the trouble of having the cops involved."

Jax's tense shoulders suddenly sagged. "Babe, I don't know what it is that you want me to say," he replied, sounding defeated. "I've never hit a woman before Ima, I swear."

"It's not about that, Jax. I'm not here to judge anyone for past mistakes because we've all been there," Marlowe said as she stepped into Jax, putting her hands on his chest. "I guess what I'm trying to say in a roundabout kind of way is that when it comes to the work I do, don't think that you or anyone else has the right to determine for me what's an emergency and what's not," she explained candidly, much to Jax's consternation.

Jax shook his head. "You're never gonna get me to say that the porn star _was_ more important than my brother, Marley."

Realizing that she wasn't getting through to him, Marlowe inhaled and exhaled deeply before speaking. "You know," she started conversationally, "back when you first made me the offer to come on board as the Club's medic, I pretty much told you how shit would fly when it came to how I operate."

"Oh, I remember," Jax replied, "and I also remember not giving you an answer one way or the other. I trusted that you knew that the Club _always_ comes first and I don't care if it's a fuckin' hang nail that's in need of attention."

"Well, then, before we go any further, I think we need to settle this _one way or another_ right now, Jax," Marlowe insisted. "You may not agree with my decision to treat Ima, but out of consideration of what I do and know how to do well, you need to understand that wasn't your call to make. I need you to trust my judgment."

"Babe, I do trust your judgment," Jax assured her as he cupped her face in his hands. "I don't trust Ima, I don't like her and I want her nowhere near you, my family or the Club."

"I get that, I really do," Marlowe replied, "but you can't expect me to withhold treatment from anyone just because you don't like them."

Jax sighed heavily. "I hear what you're saying, Marley, but I'm never going to be okay with you taking her side over mine or the Club's."

"This has nothing to do with taking sides, Jax," Marlowe replied, determined to make him understand. "Just so we're clear, even when your head's up your ass and you're acting like a caveman, I will _always_ have your back. I'm all in when it comes to you and me, baby, but if as President of this Club you have a problem letting me do my job autonomously—"

"I don't," Jax interrupted. "Ima is just a real sore spot for me, darlin', and I don't want her coming between us."

"She's not and she won't. I set her nose, cleaned her up and sent her on her way," Marlowe explained. "The only way she's comes between us is if we keep butting heads over my treatment of her."

"Then let's stop," Jax suggested earnestly. "What's done is done and let's leave it at that."

Marlowe shook her head. "We can't leave it at that, though, because this is not about Ima. This is about you thinking that you have a say in how I do my job, Jax. I know what my place is in this Clubhouse and I would never drop my two cents on you regarding Club business unless you asked me to. I'm just asking for the same courtesy."

"So what do you want me to do, darlin'?" Jax asked soberly as he placed his hands on her shoulders.

"Just say that you trust me to make the right call when my involvement in a situation is required," Marlowe said simply. "As a sailor and a soldier, I know how to take orders, but I also know how to prioritize. I don't need _or_ appreciate micromanaging."

Jax smirked. "I don't micromanage, Doc."

Marlowe shrugged a shoulder. "Eh, maybe you're just really pig-headed and bossy."

"I may have—on occasion—been a little stubborn," he replied as he wrapped his arms around her waist, resting his hands on her ass and giving it a gentle massage.

Feeling a slow burn in the pit of her stomach, Marlowe looked into Jax's dark blue eyes that were now smoldering with something other than irritation.

_Ima sure had one thing right. My man sure is pretty._

But determined not to fall into sex with Jax before resolving their shit, Marlowe mentally slapped the lusty fog out of her brain and grabbed hold of Jax's chin hair.

"This is important to me, outlaw," she whispered. "I can do my job without the need of a consult, understood?"

Jax shook his head with a smirk. "You're like a dog with a bone, you know that?" he complained only slightly irritated. Looking into her fiercely determined gray eyes, Jax sighed heavily. "Look, babe, I can't promise that I won't make my feelings known about how you handle your duties for the Club . . . but I will try to hold on to my shit in front of my brothers _when_ —'cause I know it's gonna happen—I don't agree with a call you've made. As President, I'm reserving the right to put my foot down if I believe someone's life is being put in jeopardy, especially if it's yours." He watched as she bit her lip as she considered his offer. "I'm meeting you half way and that's the best you're gonna get from me on this, darlin'."

 _It'll do, I guess, for now_ , Marlowe thought with a sigh of acceptance.

Suddenly hoisting herself up, she wrapped her long legs around his waist. "Okay, we have a deal, Pres," Marlowe said kissing him lightly on the lips. Pulling back slightly, Marlowe cocked her head towards her bed. "My bed was really lonely earlier, you know," she purred as she reached up to nuzzle his ear.

Balling his hand in the back of her still-damp hair, Jax gently tugged until she was facing him again. "We can't have that shit, now can we?" he whispered taking her plump lips in a hard kiss and grinned as he was rewarded with a breathy moan. Turning, Jax put a knee on the bed and slowly lowered Marlowe onto the mattress, pausing long enough to strip her of the towel she was wrapped in.

It was their first heated "discussion" after deciding to move forward in their relationship and Jax was sure that it wouldn't be the last. But as he slowly made love to the woman who was now the center of his world, the SAMCRO Pres realized that he wouldn't have it any other way.

* * *


	44. Chapter 44

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sons of Anarchy. I do, however, own Marlowe and any other OCs that appear in the 2 Sons Universe.**

**Content Warning: Please note that the subject matter gets a little rough towards the end of the chapter, including non-con/rape.**

* * *

 

_**Tuesday, August 3, 2010** _

The atmosphere around the Chapel was grim as SAMCRO settled down at the Redwood table. Quietly watching his brother, Jax could see from Opie's worn expression and hunched shoulders that he'd had a troubled and sleepless night. Not that Jax would wish what had happened to Opie's old lady on any of his brothers, but his best friend in particular was the least deserving of having this type of pain inflicted on him. Opie had suffered enough by way of personal tragedy to last a lifetime. Now, with Lyla so severely brutalized, Jax knew his brother well enough to know that Opie was probably blaming himself, believing that anyone he loved was doomed to suffer because of him and his "failure" to protect them. Knowing this only made Jax more determined to get justice not only for Lyla, but for his brother's peace of mind as well.

Slamming the gavel down and calling the meeting to order, Jax locked eyes on his VP. "How'd you and Lyla make it through the night?" he asked soberly.

Opie sighed heavily. "Me, not so great. Thankfully, Lyla managed to sleep through the night with that sedative Marlowe gave her. She needed it too. It was best that she was out cold while Doc cauterised her finger." Opie paused to swallow the lump in his throat before continuing. "Chibs told Marlowe about that clinic—the one we sold those HIV protocol 'scripts to a while back. Tomorrow she's taking Lyla there for testing." He sighed and swiped at his tearing eyes with a large hand before looking at Happy. "I don't know what we would have done if Doc hadn't been here, Hap."

Happy nodded, his face grim. "Marley's good at what she does and will make sure Lyla's taken care of while we handle the rest, brother. We're gonna make the fuckers who did this shit pay. That's a promise, bro," Happy replied in his gravelly voice as everyone around the table nodded in firm agreement.

"So let's get started on this shit." Jax looked down the table to his intelligence officer. "What have you been able to find out, Juice?"

Juice straightened up and folded his hands on the table. "Not a whole lot. Hurt Me Bad Productions is owned by two Iranian brothers, Amir and Kia Ghanezi. Their studio is located in a warehouse on the Navy docks in Stockton. Although it's relatively new to the area, it seems that they've been around for a while and are pretty good at operating under the radar."

"How big is their outfit?" Happy questioned.

"Not big from what I gather. I took a minute to talk to Ima and she said there were five or six guys on site and maybe two other actresses," Juice gritted his teeth. "Some really twisted shit is going on in that studio, brothers. Seems there's a growing niche in the fetish market for simulated torture and rape porn, but from what Ima said—and judging from what I was able to stomach watching, I have to believe her— _no one_ is acting in these flicks. All the sick shit that goes on is legit real. How she managed to get Lyla out of there is a fuckin' miracle. If she hadn't—" Juice paused and watched as Opie's shoulders slumped even further and winced. "But she did and your old lady is gonna pull through this, Ope."

"And these Ghanezi bastards are not gonna get away with this shit," Tig said quietly. "That's a fuckin' promise, Ope.

Watching Tig from his seat at the head of the table, Jax figured that the former SAA was probably feeling a lot of emotions regarding the current situation. After all, it was Tig, operating under Clay's direction, who had caused the death of Opie's first wife Donna, creating a breach between the two men that would never fully heal. Instead of patching out, Opie had made the decision to stay with the Club in the hope of one day helping Jax get the Club back on the right path. However, it was clear that Tig was still feeling remorse for what he had done and, like everyone else, was fully committed to doing his part to help his brother.

"How do we plan on handling this shit?" Miles asked logically.

"I'll tell you how," Piney retorted loudly. "We each take an AK down there and obliterate these assholes. And I mean we do it _today_." He slammed a meaty fist down on the Redwood table.

"That might not be feasible, _Pres_ ," Clay said quietly from his position next to Piney as Jax's eyes narrowed dangerously.

 _Now is not the time for this bullshit_ , the look on Jax's face seemed to be screaming at Clay.

Things had been pretty stable between Jax and his stepfather until Elliott Oswald's recent visit regarding Charming Heights ignited a mini-power struggle between them. However, Jax had been cunning enough to use Galen O'Shay's refusal to acknowledge him as being the man in charge to his advantage. With Galen insisting that Clay be the point man on the Cartel deal, Jax had made sure that the former president stayed plenty busy overseeing that portion of SAMCRO's gun running business. That left Jax free to focus on getting his plans for the Club in order unhindered and without scrutiny. The last thing Jax needed was for this situation with Lyla to stir up some more internal bullshit between them.

"What do you have in mind, Clay?" Jax asked quietly.

Clay leaned back in his chair as he focused his blue eyes on his stepson. "Don't get me wrong. I totally support Piney on killing these dirt bags, but busting in on them without properly vetting the sitch could create additional problems. Juicy Boy's right. It's a miracle that gash got herself out of there alive with Lyla. As a result, those Iranians are more than likely waiting for some shit to rain down on them and may be prepared for any unwelcome visitors. And then there's Charles Barosky to consider."

"Barosky? I know that name. Doesn't he run the docks out there?" Bobby queried and Clay nodded.

Tapping the ash from his cigar into an ashtray, Clay continued, "Yeah, and he's a tough son of a bitch, too. He's a former detective; one of Stockton's Finest and as dirty as a dirty cop could get. He retired 5 or 6 years ago and now runs the Navy docks, his old stomping grounds when he was a badge. _Nothing_ happens on the docks that he don't know about or doesn't get a piece of. He's got every crooked cop in that department on his payroll and _everyone_ running a less than legit business on his watch pays for that privilege. Before we roll up in there guns blazing, we need to approach him first."

"To ask for permission?" Piney scoffed incredulously.

"Not permission. It's called 'professional courtesy'," Clay replied. "We'd expect the same from anyone looking to make noise with a third-party in our backyard. 'Sides, with most of us still on parole, it might be prudent for us _not_ to piss off an ex-dirty cop with connections. Unless, that is, any of you _want_ back in the joint. I know I don't." Clay's steel blue eyes bore into each of his brothers one by one. "Since this is a new outfit, with any luck, Barosky doesn't even know these Ghanezi pieces of shit are operating on his turf. If we make it worth his while, he may even let us clean house for him," Clay concluded.

"What do you think, Ope?" Jax asked and watched as his brother collected his thoughts.

"I think Clay's right," Opie swallowed hard. "We'll give Barosky some 'professional courtesy' by checking in with him first, but make no mistake, brothers. We're killing those motherfuckers with or without his consent."

"Fuckin' A," Happy growled.

"Absolutely, brother," Jax agreed wholeheartedly. "Let's vote on this shit so we can get to work."

* * *

With the meeting finally brought to a conclusion, everyone filed out of the Chapel and headed straight to the bar, except for Tig who volunteered getting on the gangster hotline in order to get a line on contacting Barosky. The rest of his brothers lined up at the bar to quietly discuss strategy as the Prospects hurriedly served up shots and cold beers.

Jax watched as Opie broke away from the group after downing a shot of whiskey and started making his way back to his dorm to check on his sleeping old lady. Stopping abruptly by the kitchen, Opie looked as if he were bracing himself to keep from hitting the ground as he emotionally fell apart. Quickly striding over to him, Jax placed a gentle hand on the behemoth's shoulder.

"You want me to come with, bro?" Jax watched as Opie swiped at his face and ran a hand over his head before straightening up, a fiercely grim determination displayed on his face .

"No, brother. Have Marlowe check on Lyla for me," he replied and turned to head towards the Clubhouse exit. "I think its time I finally take your advice."

"What advice is that?" Jax called out after him, and watched as Opie stopped and turned to face him.

"I'm gonna say goodbye to Donna."

* * *

_**Wednesday, August 4, 2010** _

It had been a long day for Lyla. That morning, Marlowe had awoken her bright and early in order to help with a sponge bath. Finally, Lyla was able to wash away the remaining blood and dank sweat that stubbornly clung to her hair and skin in preparation for her first outing since being brought to the Clubhouse.

As promised, Marlowe had made a mid-morning appointment for Lyla at the West Side Clinic in Morris County, an out of the way medical center not far from San Leandro. The clinic was known to SAMCRO because that had been where Jax had sold some HIV protocols when he was desperately putting money together during Abel's kidnapping nightmare. The meds had been a gift from Honey, Piney's black market connection for prescription medications, as a show of gratitude after the Club had dealt with a group of Meth dealers looking to take over her cache worth over half a million dollars.

Accompanying Marlowe, Lyla and Opie, Jax had introduced them to the doctor who had bought the black-market 'scripts from him for use by the criminally underfunded medical center. As a favor to the Club—and for a goodly sum of money as well—the doctor had discreetly examined Lyla himself. Once all the necessary testing and blood work had been completed, he had given her a complete physical exam. With her now-confirmed broken ribs re-wrapped, the foursome had parted ways in the parking lot. Jax and Opie headed out to meet their brothers in Stockton for what Marlowe was sure was Lyla-related Club business, while the two women returned to the Clubhouse.

After stripping Lyla down to one of Opie's oversized t-shirts, the two women sat in his dorm to talk, with Lyla reclining in bed and Marlowe sitting in a chair opposite her. Marlowe had made a tentative suggestion to Lyla and, for a moment, it looked like she was going to say no before she finally agreed to help.

Now, Lyla watched as Marlowe closed her sketchbook and placed it along with her pencil case on the night stand. "That was a lot harder than I thought it would be," she whispered with a gentle lisp thanks to her missing front teeth.

"You did really well," Marlowe assured her quietly.

"It's amazing what the unconscious mind holds onto even when all I wanna do is erase that day from my memory," Lyla mumbled. "Since waking up yesterday, all I could really remember was the smell of patchouli. It was all I'd let myself remember of that day, actually, because I used to like how it smells. Closing my eyes just now and remembering that scent, it all just came rushing back at me and it was horrible, Marley."

"I know it was and I know reliving it all again so soon was very hard for you," Marlowe said consolingly.

"Yeah, it was, but you were right," Lyla said emphatically. "The Club needs all the help I might be able to give them. Faces, tats, all that shit can go a long way in helping Opie and Jax find them."

 _And talking through what happened to you can go a long way in helping you heal_ , Marlowe wanted to say but didn't.

Marlowe knew from experience that talking through bad experiences made the memories slightly more tolerable to live with. Unfortunately, that hadn't been a lesson she learned for herself until _after_ coming to Charming. Her sessions with Dr. Bellows had helped Marlowe immensely and now she was hoping to be able to pay it forward with Lyla, knowing that she would probably never seek out counseling on her own. But getting Lyla to talk had been a two-fold mission. She was just glad she had been able to gently convince Lyla to provide as much detail as possible in order to help SAMCRO in their mission to take down this sadistic group of pornographers.

Hearing Lyla describe her ordeal, however, had not been easy to stomach. It was one thing to make assumptions regarding the cause of certain injuries. It was something else altogether to have an unforgivably vivid picture created in her mind as she listened to Lyla. Although her own experience with sexual abuse didn't even come close to tipping the scales against Lyla's, hearing about the pain and humiliation she had suffered at the hands of her attackers hit way too close to home for Marlowe. All she could do was listen and comfort, all the while hoping that tonight she wouldn't be revisited by her own demons.

"I may have to talk to Juice about getting me a burner with a better camera," Marlowe said as she grimaced at her pre-pay. "I hope the pictures I sent Jax of the sketches will help them do what needs to get done."

Lyla ran her tongue over her swollen and cracked bottom lip. "Do you think they'll really, you know," she said and paused before drawing her finger across her slender throat, still dark with bruises.

"Oh, definitely. And to tell you the truth," Marlowe responded and Lyla watched as she crossed her leg over her knee to lovingly stroke the handle of the KA-BAR tucked into her boot. "I wish I could be there to see them do it too. Can't think of anyone more deserving of a healthy dose of outlaw justice right about now."

 _Damn, I'm glad she's on my side_ , Lyla thought ruefully.

"I'm sure the Club's dealt with shit like this before, murder as payback," Lyla said quietly as if afraid of being overheard. "I'm just not so sure how I feel about Opie—"

"Killing for you?" Marlowe asked gently and Lyla nodded. "It is something of a mind fuck knowing someone you love and look up to has taken a life to protect yours."

Lyla arched an eyebrow. "You sound like you're talking from experience."

Caught off guard, Marlowe bit her lip as she looked at Lyla with wide eyes. "No, not from experience," she tried to shrug it off. "I meant in general."

Lyla managed a small grin in spite of the pain in her face. "Yeah, okay. So," she said conversationally, "which smiley face was for you?" she asked candidly and watched as Marlowe's eyes widened once again in shock. Lyla suddenly found her shoulders shaking with repressed laughter and winced again, this time from the pain in her ribs. "Wasn't expecting to hear Gemma coming out of my mouth, huh?"

"Uh, fuck no I wasn't," the Club medic retorted. "Has somebody been talking shit?"

Lyla shook her head. "No, Marley, it's nothing like that. I was actually just taking a wild guess, but thanks for the confirmation," she chuckled as Marlowe gave her the stink eye. "I saw first hand how protective Happy is of you, remember? The look on his face the night Tara stepped out of line with you, I would have bet money on him adding to his collection of tats if Jax hadn't jumped in," she explained. "I may not know a whole lot about the Club, but I know an enforcer when I see one. In the porn business, they're more common than actual screenwriters. Besides, I've gotta believe that your brother hasn't decorated his seriously tight abs with a bunch of smiley faces because he thought they were cute," Lyla sassed as Marlowe rolled her eyes comically. "They certainly add to the fear factor and Happy is one scary mother."

"Yeah, that he is," Marlowe agreed somewhat proudly.

"I guess that's why I love Ope so much," Lyla reasoned. "Even though I don't know what kind of business the Club's into, I do know that they would die for one another and that they would kill to protect each other's loved ones."

Crossing her arms over her chest, Marlowe sat back in her chair and eyed the old lady thoughtfully. Although she knew that some old ladies, like Gemma, were in the thick of Club business while others weren't, Marlowe hadn't thought it possible that some of them wouldn't know what it was the Club did to earn their livelihood.

"And you're okay with not knowing?" Marlowe asked curiously.

"I am or, I should say, I thought I was," Lyla said and shook her head. "I'm starting to think that maybe keeping my head in the sand about the Club isn't the answer. Opie said as much too, that he should have shared more shit with me."

Realizing that they were treading into muddy territory, Marlowe considered changing the subject, but her curiosity got the better of her. "Any chance on you and Ope working things out?"

"I want to, I really do, Marley," Lyla replied sincerely. "And Ope says he does too, but I'm so afraid of getting my hopes up again only to be let down."

"I'm probably the last human being on this lot that should be offering relationship advice. I've never really been _in love_ with anyone until now," Marlowe found herself admitting, "but if you believe you have a love with Ope worth holding onto, fight to make shit right, Lyla. There's no glory in giving up. You have nothing to lose and so much to gain by giving it a shot. Trust me, it took me a minute to figure that shit out myself."

Lyla sighed. "That's easy to say, but so much harder to do," she whispered, her eyes downcast. She looked up when Marlowe reached out and placed a gentle hand on her uninjured one.

"I'm not gonna lie. Putting my heart in someone else's hands has been the scariest shit I've ever done in my life, and that includes going to war _three_ separate times! But as scary as it was, completely giving myself to Jax and our relationship has already changed my life for the better. It's scary knowing that even just the tiniest bit of your happiness is dependent on someone else, but sometimes relinquishing that control is so worth it when in the end you get what you never knew you wanted in the first place," Marlowe advised as she stood up to make her way to the bathroom to dispose of Lyla's soiled bandages. "But that's just me. You wanna make you happy? Trust in your man and follow your heart."

* * *

Dumping the soiled bandages into the bathroom's waste basket, Marlowe took her time stripping off the surgical gloves before washing her hands. Her conversation with Lyla had been difficult, during which Marlowe had found herself making a concerted effort to hold back tears as she listened to what she had endured. Sadly, it seemed that Lyla had lived a hard life even before this recent incident and the Club medic had been hard pressed to believe that she and Lyla were only a few years apart.

Some might look at Marlowe, her history and her years of military service and come to the conclusion that she in fact had been the one to overcome much in order to achieve a lot. However, in Marlowe's eyes, nothing could have been further from the truth. As a matter of fact, Marlowe had a profound admiration for women like Lyla. In spite of living a hard life, Lyla—like so many other single mothers—had done her best to take care of her son and provide him with a good life. As a product of a single-parent home, Marlowe knew from experience that not all women were made to be so selfless and loving when it came to motherhood.

After the horrors she had been forced to endure, Marlowe sincerely hoped that Lyla would be able to pull together the fragments of her life in order to find happiness with Opie Winston. Watching the soft-spoken yet gentle giant of a man dote over his wife over the last few days had broken Marlowe's heart. It was obvious that he loved Lyla very much and, according to Jax, there was nothing two people couldn't overcome as long as they loved each other.

Opening the bathroom door, Marlowe suddenly stopped short. Jax's earnest declaration regarding the endurance of love may have come from the heart, but it was also incredibly naïve as Marlowe realized that sometimes love alone just wasn't enough. Broken relationships where only one party was willing to do the work in order to make things work were almost always doomed to fail and, watching as Lyla accepted the small vial of white powder from Ima, Marlowe's heart ached for Opie and his seemingly solo battle to save his marriage.

Ima, perched on the side of Lyla's bed, was looking considerably better than she had two days ago. The swelling around her broken nose had gone down significantly and she had managed to conceal her full-on black eye with a professional-quality make up job. She was wearing a tight back-baring purple and white halter dress that showed off her slender curves with matching sky-high platform heels. However glad Marlowe was to see Ima looking so well, she couldn't ignore what she had just witnessed, especially not after the conversation she had just had with Lyla.

"Shit!" Ima squealed as she practically jumped to her feet when Marlowe slammed the bathroom door behind her. "Oh, it's just you," she sighed with relief as she rolled her eyes. "You really take that whole Army stealthy shit seriously, don'tcha? You'd think clomping around in those combat boots we'd hear you coming." Ima's smile faded, however, as she noted the cold, implacable stare on the medic's face as she strode forward. "Shit! I know that look. What the fuck did I do now?" she exclaimed, truly fearful for her safety.

"Oh, you don't know? We'll get to that, but first, I was in the fuckin' _Navy_ ," Marlowe said grimly. "You must be kin to my brother 'cause he can't seem to remember that shit either."

"Your brother? That's Happy, right? He's seriously fuckin' hot." Ima grinned craftily. "Maybe I could get him as a consolation prize, you know, since you're still holding on to Jax."

" _Second_ ," Marlowe continued as if Ima hadn't spoken. "I may have given you too much credit when it comes to smarts because what you did wrong should be obvious," she said as she plucked the vial of what she suspected was cocaine from Lyla's good hand.

"What? It's not my fault. Ly asked for it. Shit!" Ima said defensively. Turning to look at Lyla, she complained, "Why is it that the more I help you the more trouble I get into?"

"Don't bitch at her," Marlowe retorted. "You have a brain, Ima, or at least I thought you did. Try using it sometime. If this is what I think it is," she said as she unscrewed the vial and, dipping her pinky finger in it, tentatively tasted the fine powder with the tip of her tongue before spitting it out. "Damn it, Lyla! Are you trying to kill yourself? With the opiates I'm giving you for the pain, the last thing you want to do is snort a line of this shit." With her hand on a cocked hip, Marlowe eyed a downcast Lyla.

"I just needed a small bump," Lyla said avoiding Marlowe's penetrating gaze. "It's not that big of a deal."

Marlowe turned to eye Ima, who had grabbed her handbag and was slowly edging her way to the door. "And where do you think you're going?" she said, turning to face Ima as she crossed her arms over her chest.

Marlowe could hear Ima swallow the lump in her throat as she eyed her warily. "Honestly? Trying to get as far away as I can from them guns you're sporting," she snarked. "I'm still healing."

"I'm not going to hit you, Ima. That's not how I roll, remember?" Marlowe said casually. "You better be on your way, though. And the next time you want to cheer Lyla up, bring flowers instead. It's what normal people would do."

"Who the fuck ever said I was normal?" Ima quipped as she tossed her bag on her shoulder before opening the door. "I'll see you, Lyla," she said as she closed the door behind her.

Coming around the side of the bed, Marlowe sat down and faced Lyla, who she was sure would have bolted for the door right after her friend if she could move fast enough.

"This shit's not cheap, so I'm thinking Ima probably wasn't gifting it," Marlowe started. "Did you ask her to buy it for you?" She watched as Lyla nodded dumbly. "Why? After everything you said about wanting to fix shit with your old man, why would you turn to this shit?"

"I just," Lyla started and sighed. "I just needed to clear my head for a little while."

Marlowe took a deep breath and let it out as a heavy sigh. "Lyla, I know you're dealing with some pretty massive shit right now, but this," she held up the vial between her thumb and index finger, "is not the answer. You want shit to get better for you, you're going to have to stop running."

Lyla scoffed. "In my condition, I'm not running any where. Hell, I can't walk ten feet without getting winded thanks to my broken ribs."

Marlowe shook her head. "You're not stupid, Lyla. You know what I mean. Whether you try leaving Ope again or stay and inhale this crap by the bagful, you're still just running away instead of working to fix shit," she said quietly. "When you finally stop running or when you come down from your high, nothing will have changed for the better, don't you see that?" She watched as Lyla listlessly let her head fall back against the headboard.

"I do, Marley. I do," Lyla admitted. "It's just—"

"Just what?"

"For the first time, it's like Opie really _sees_ me. I've waited for him to see _me_ instead of Donna for so long and now that I think he has, I'm afraid he's going to see what a loser I really am. I've fucked up my life so badly, I'm going downhill and picking up speed. Maybe I'm _not_ worth saving," she mumbled, not meeting Marlowe's eyes.

"How can you say that?" Marlowe questioned with barely contained disgust. "Forget Opie for a minute. You know who thinks you're worth saving? Your son Piper, who didn't ask to come into this world but still depends on you to be there for him. You're his mother, for chrissake. It's your responsibility to be there for him," she chastised. "And if Opie didn't think you were worth it, he sure as shit wouldn't have stayed up all night watching over you after shit blew up. He wouldn't try to fix shit with you now and he certainly wouldn't be risking the lives and freedom of his brothers as well as his own in order to get you some sort of justice. Seems to me like he's the only one who's really trying, Lyla. You just need to meet him halfway."

"And how can I do that?" she whispered.

"If you're asking Opie to put his love for his first old lady to rest and commit to being with you, you need to give him the best you have to offer," Marlowe counseled her as she held up the vial. "And this is not it, Lyla. You can't escape your problems forever, so fix them and you won't ever have to escape again."

Watching as Lyla's eyes widened and her sudden inhale and exhale, the woman's shoulders seemed to straighten with purpose and Marlowe felt a measure of relief when she spoke. "You're really good at this, aren't you?"

Marlowe shook her head. "Not really, no. I have my own history of bad shit I have to deal with all the time. I can just tell that the love is there between you and Ope. Don't let that go," she advised. "So, what should we do with this shit?" Marlowe asked, holding the vial in her open palm.

Lyla looked at it longingly for a moment before reaching out and plucking it out of Marlowe's hand. "I think you should help me up so I can go flush this shit down the toilet," Lyla said in a surprisingly even voice. She offered a small smile as Marlowe grinned at her. "It's not gonna be easy, is it, kicking this shit?"

"No, it won't," the Club medic replied honestly as she stood up and helped Lyla out of bed. "But nothing worth fighting for ever is."

* * *

As a recently patched member of SAMCRO, this was the first time that Phil would find himself witnessing how the Club operated when it came to settling a dispute with an outsider. Eager not to be the one responsible for fucking shit up for his brothers, Phil was determined to pay attention, keeping both his eyes and his ears open and his mouth closed.

However, sitting at a small table towards the back of the Italian deli-slash-bakery was proving to be a distraction as the enticing smells of baked goods and freshly brewed espresso wafted through the shop.

Located in a busy area of downtown Stockton, the mom-and-pop style eatery seemed to be popular among office workers and laborers alike. With the lunch crowd finally heading back to work, the mid-day traffic through the shop had died down. Now, instead of paying customers taking up the available tables and chairs, the small dining area was packed with bikers in kuttes as Jax Teller discussed business with the shop's owner, Charles Barosky, as his crew of ex-cops looked on.

By Phil's estimation, the balding, grim-faced man had to be in his early 60's. Although he easily outweighed the older man by 100 pounds, the Lord of the Docks, as Barosky was known, would probably have no trouble taking on men half his age, and it was becoming increasingly clear that the former cop wasn't accustomed to taking shit from anyone.

Taking his mind off the fact that he wished his empty plate had another couple of cannoli on it, Phil refocused his attention on the conversation between his President and Barosky.

"Nasty pieces of shit," Barosky muttered as he sat back in his chair and eyed his counterpart. "And this shit is happening in _my_ backyard?" He turned to eye one of his henchmen. "How the fuck did this get by you?" His clipped speech was rich with authority and irritation.

"I don't know, boss. This is the first I'm hearing about this shit too." The bulky, bald headed man turned a critical eye on Jax. "You sure this shit you're claiming is legit?" he asked, his tone challenging.

Pointedly ignoring him, Jax pulled out his pre-pay and offered it to Barosky. "Does the shit done to her look legit to you?" he asked grimly. Jax watched as Barosky took the phone from him and swore under his breath as he used his thumb to scroll through the pictures of the bleeding and battered woman in them before passing it to his second.

"Damn," the subordinate muttered. "That's some sick shit," he exclaimed before handing the pre-pay back to Jax.

"Get Quigley on the phone," Barosky ordered. "Those assholes are renting his warehouse. Let's see what he can tell us." He turned to face Jax. "So, if what you're saying is true, what exactly do you want from me?"

Jax crossed his arms over his chest. "These assholes are in the business of hurting women and we just want to put them out of business. Permanently." Jax bared his teeth in a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Lyla, the woman in those pictures, she's my VP's old lady." He nodded at Opie who was sitting silently by his side breathing hard. "What they did to her cannot go unanswered, and while I don't know you, I gotta believe that this is some shit you don't want happening on your turf. Now, I'm sure there will probably be some shit on site that the Iranians won't have a need for once we're done with them. You give us the Intel we need, maybe a little help with the clean up afterward, and we split whatever's lying around. Then my crew and I will be on our way." Jax watched as the man leaned back in his chair and eyed him speculatively.

"Sounds interesting. Let me see what I can find out." As Barosky got up to talk to his crew and give them instructions, Opie cocked an eye at his brother.

"Do you think we can trust him?" he asked in a quiet undertone.

Without changing the pleasant expression on his face, Jax replied, "I'm not sure. So far, he's being pretty accommodating considering he doesn't know us from jack shit. Let's just play it by ear, but stay vigilant and ready haul ass out of here in case shit goes sideways."

Jax sat back and continued to watch Barosky and his crew. It was looking like taking Clay's advice to approach the Lord of the Docks had been the right call to make and hopefully would work to their advantage. Jax smirked to himself as he realized that in spite of having virtually taken the Club from the old man, there was still some shit Clay could teach him about running an MC.

* * *

The Port of Stockton was a major inland deep water port located on the San Joaquin River, right before it joined the Sacramento River to empty into Suisun Bay. With the port sitting on 4200 acres, it was a major hub for all types of activity. With the west side of the Port dedicated as the Stockton Navy Yard, in spite of it being a prime depot for many U.S. Navy ships making their home there, it sure as hell wasn't Uncle Sam who was in charge of running the docks.

As the _de facto_ Lord of the Docks, Charles "Charlie" Barosky—a retired Detective of the Stockton Police Department—had spent most of his 30-year career working with the vice squad and he knew the docks and its criminal underbelly like the back of his own gnarled hand.

After paying his dues as a rookie and trying to live his life on the right side of the law, Charlie grew fed up with the revolving door justice system that turned perps loose as fast as he could arrest them. At first just slightly bending the rules in order to clean up the streets around the docks, he soon learned that his badge came with perks which allowed him to run this small piece of the city his way. In doing so, Charlie had turned being a crooked cop into an art form.

Over the years, Charlie had managed to keep his ass clean in spite of close scrutiny by Internal Affairs as they investigated allegations of his use of unethical and unusual methods for apprehending criminals, all the while lining his pockets with ill-gotten gains. Finally, however, the law caught up with the player and it was either turn his badge in and retire or find himself living out his pension years in Stockton Prison, something any law enforcement officer would avoid at all costs.

Charlie soon learned that being pushed into early retirement wasn't such a bad thing after all. It afforded him the privilege of roaming free and answering to no one but himself. With current crooked cops on his payroll reporting to him all manner of lucrative information and running the streets _his_ _way_ , Charlie had his finger in every pie cooking on or near the docks, including a brothel on the other side of town. Charlie Barosky was living large off of his small, but lucrative criminal enterprise.

No longer carrying a badge, Charlie still made an effort to seem legit. On paper, he had purchased the deli/bakery with his brother-in-law just to keep himself active after retirement. Off the record, the business was his day job, his cover. He owned the night, however, and every little seedy, two-bit criminal who wanted to operate in his kingdom had to pay for the privilege because he _was_ the Lord of the fuckin' Docks.

So Charlie was more than a little put out and took great offense to discover that (a) some really nasty shit was going on in his own backyard behind his back; and (b) he wasn't getting his rightful share of the action.

Now, crouched behind a large industrial garbage dumpster, the moonlight cast bright shadows along the narrow alleyway that ran along the side of Quigley's Supply Warehouse, the target of that evening's adventure. Looking over his shoulder, Barosky was able to make out the features of the younger, muscular man crouched down beside him dressed in dark plain clothes.

"You ready for this shit, Handsome Jack?" Charlie grinned.

"I'm ready. Question is," Jax replied with a snarky grin of his own, "are you ready, old man?"

"I was doing this shit when your snot-nosed ass was still in diapers," Charlie boasted as he pulled out a 9mm Beretta. With a couple of hand motions directed at several pockets of his crew and the Sons positioned at strategic points on the dock, the older man grinned mirthlessly. "Okay," he whispered into his phone. "Let's do this shit."

Pulling away from the dumpster, Jax watched as the older man charged forward and looked behind him at Happy and Opie as they pulled out their guns.

"As the old geezer said, 'let's do this shit'," Jax whispered and stood up to follow.

"Fuck, yeah!" Opie exclaimed grimly as he fell in step behind him.

* * *

"Scream louder, you fuckin' cunt!" Amir Ghanezi yelled impatiently from his position behind the cameraman at the young actress lying half-naked and spread-eagled on a dirty mattress on the floor. "I am wasting time with this bitch! Rabi," he called out to the big and bulky man currently ramming himself into the petite blonde as she cried hysterically. "Make her scream louder or nobody gets paid for today," he demanded and watched with growing anticipation as the large, bald-headed man with a skull and crossbones tattooed on the back of his head ruthlessly slammed his meaty fist into the young woman's face as he continued fucking her.

"There you go!" Amir declared, clapping joyfully as the actress let out a piercing scream before gurgling and nearly choking on the bile that had risen from her stomach and mixed with the blood in her mouth.

Turning her head to the side and away from the 275-lb. beast that was brutalizing her, she threw up, earning herself a close up as Amir directed his cameraman to zoom in on her battered and vomit-covered face. As she continued to tearfully beg for Rabi to stop, several other young women locked in cages or hanging by their wrists from chains attached to the ceiling joined in a chorus of cries for mercy. One of them had even soiled herself as their pleas were ignored by their tormentors who continued to abuse them.

It had been a long day as the shoot had started early in the afternoon and would continue for another couple of hours. He was working his crew hard and the whores brought in for the day were fading fast, but Amir was intent on finalizing a rough cut to send back to his production shop in Eastern Europe for editing and printing.

Satisfied with the reactions Rabi was working to get from the girl on the mattress, Amir turned to address his brother who had just entered the dimly lit room. "Kia, what time is your flight?"

"Don't worry about that. I have plenty of time as long as you keep filming, eh?" the younger man replied. "Just focus on the shoot, Amir, because those stupid bitches you hired aren't screaming enough."

Realizing that Kia was right, Amir turned to address his "cast" once again when suddenly one of his security men shouted, "What the fuck?! The security feed is gone!"

Rushing over to the compact and stocky man, Amir and Kia stared at the monitors that—until a moment ago—had displayed closed-circuit footage of the outside perimeter of the building as well as the surrounding dock area. Instead of black and white shots of the exterior, all that was visible was staticky snow as if the cameras had been disconnected.

"Shit!" Amir swore loudly. "Stop shooting," he barked at the cameraman. "Kia, take two men and check this shit out," he said and watched as his brother nodded and headed for the door. Kia and his back up made it as far as two steps before the entrance to the warehouse imploded.

In shock, Amir screamed as two figures busted in, throwing the large battering ram used to break down the door at his brother, knocking him and the two men with him down. Suddenly, it was as if the floodgates of hell had opened and in swarmed an army of men.

And that's when the bullets started flying.

Ducking for cover, Amir scrambled onto his hands and knees as he desperately tried to make his way to the office and his safe, cursing himself for choosing this of all nights to go unarmed. Before he could determine why he was no longer moving, the large hand that had wrapped itself around his neck hauled him up and suddenly Amir found himself airborne. Flung through the air, he landed with a vicious thump and in a heap on a table that splintered and collapsed under his weight.

Looking up, Amir's terrified dark eyes met a pair of menacing green ones raging with fury. The man's long brown hair was flowing around his shoulders wildly, giving him the appearance of an animal as he bared his teeth at him with a growl. So mesmerized by the man-beast bearing down on him, it took a moment for the huge hand cannon the man was wielding to register with Amir.

"Lyla Winston!" the man practically roared as he stalked forward and Amir desperately willed his legs to move so he could scramble away. As the pain finally made its way to his brain, Amir looked down at his left leg and let out a blood-curdling scream as he stupidly noted that knees were not meant to bend to the side.

"Please!" Amir shouted. "I don't know who you are talking about. Please, don't kill me!" he begged. Trembling with shock and pain, Amir watched as the man dug into the pocket of the hoodie he wore and held up a picture. Amir's heart sank as he looked at the professional headshot of a beautiful blonde woman. "Shit," he moaned as he realized that he may not have known her name, but he remembered her face.

_The little whore that got away!_

Gun fire continued to explode around him as Amir Ghanezi looked up in terror at the man standing over him. Hearing the sound of his brother's voice as he begged for his life, he turned his head in time to see a tall man with curly dark hair shoot him point blank between the eyes.

"Kia!" Amir screamed as his brother's lifeless body fell to the floor.

Turning to face the now-silent man standing over him, Amir knew that life as he knew it was over. "Fuck you!" he screamed, following it up with a wad of spit that landed just short of the man's black boots.

"No," Opie Winston said in a quietly malevolent voice. Carefully aiming his weapon, he shot the man in the groin and watched him writhe around in agony, the pain of his horribly broken leg now forgotten. Slowly moving to point the gun at the man's head, Opie smirked. "Fuck you."

And then he pulled the trigger.

* * *

Pulling out a pack of cigarettes, Barosky offered one to Jax. "Well," he drawled as he lit it for Jax before sparking one for himself. "That was fun, for me. Not so much for you though. You gonna be all right?" Barosky watched as the younger man gritted his teeth a little before drawing on his cigarette and letting out a trail of blue smoke.

"I'll be fine," Jax replied evenly as he tried to ignore the pain. "The shot went straight through. All things considered, it could have been a lot worse."

 _I could be dead_ , he thought a little grimly as he took in his surroundings.

In spite of lasting all of five minutes, Jax had known that the aftermath of their takedown of the Ghanezi brothers would include a messy clean-up. After what Lyla had to endure, Opie had made it clear that nothing short of total annihilation would be acceptable retribution for his old lady and Jax couldn't have agreed more. With Barosky and his crew as back up, the Sons had outnumbered the Ghanezi operation by more than double. In spite of such favorable odds, however, not everything had turned out exactly as Jax had planned.

There had been a total of eight Ghanezi men on site. With the sketches Marlowe had provided, the Sons had been on a mission to locate the three foul pieces of shit responsible for savagely brutalizing Lyla. The rest would get a quick and merciful death—one they didn't deserve for being complicit in the abuse and degradation of unsuspecting women. Unfortunately, one of those "merciful deaths" had not actually been _all the way_ dead, which was why the SAMCRO Pres was sporting a brand new bullet hole in his right thigh.

Fortunately for Jax, the bastard had managed just one shot from his prone position on the floor. From the corner of his eye at the far side of the room, Happy had seen the man raise and point his gun at Jax's back. Mortally wounded and bleeding profusely, the Ghanezi thug struggled to properly aim for a kill shot, but Happy had no such problem. With both men practically pulling the trigger at the same time, only Happy's shot had made bull's eye, exploding the man's head like a melon.

Hearing gunshots once again, the searing heat through the meaty part of Jax's thigh had not registered right away until Chibs and Opie had come running over to him. If anything, it had been Chibs' probing of the bullet wound with his finger that had awoken the near unbearable pain in Jax's leg. Although still bleeding, Chibs had managed to slow it down considerably with a tourniquet and makeshift dressing. Riding back to Charming was going to prove hard as hell, but Jax had nearly yanked the phone out of his SAA's hand as Happy announced his intention of calling Marlowe out to Stockton. Not only did he not want to unnecessarily worry his girl, Jax was determined to not show any weakness in front of the Lord of the Docks. He wanted to see this operation through to its conclusion, especially as looking around the warehouse Jax realized that there were several opportunities to exploit on behalf of the Club.

Barosky's crew had discovered a large stash of money and drugs in the back office as well as a treasure trove of movie-making equipment, including HD cameras, editing machines and computers, and tons of props and costumes. As Barosky took inventory, Juice and Tig released the four very grateful actresses from their cages and chains, handing them over to Chibs for whatever first aid he could render. After, they joined their brothers as SAMCRO readied the bodies for disposal and wiped down the studio for any CSI-related evidence. Once the bodies had been loaded into two separate cargo vans and with Chief Charlie Horse's consent, Jax gave Miles and Filthy Phil instructions to bury them deep on Wahewa land.

Now, sitting at the table which bore the weight of the money, guns, and drugs they had located, Jax smiled grimly. "Mission accomplished," he announced to Barosky as he turned to watch Opie talking quietly with Happy.

"I have to admit, I'm impressed," Barosky said with obvious admiration. "You boys handled your shit like true professionals. Your Intelligence Officer knew his way around a pretty sophisticated security system and, what, you got a police sketch artist on the payroll, too? Those sketches were spot on and really helped nail those fuckers down. I'm assuming that the three guys your VP and SAA took their time butchering were responsible for what happened to his old lady?" Barosky watched as the SAMCRO Pres nodded. "That was some epically crazy shit. I wouldn't want to take up residence on your bad side."

"Don't see that happening," Jax replied with a smile. "Besides, seems I'm not the only one with a reputation. I wouldn't want to get on your bad side either."

Barosky nodded at the four women who were sitting on the floor wrapped in blankets. "What do you wanna do about them?" he watched as Jax shrugged his shoulders.

"As he was patching them up, Chibs managed to get one of them talking. They were promised $3,000 a piece for a day's work. Since there's plenty of cash here I say give it to them and send them on their way. Make sure they understand that nothing out of the ordinary went down here today. We're not the bad guys, so I think they'll be grateful they're getting out alive and relatively unharmed, well, except for the poor bitch who was strapped to that filthy mattress."

"Well, I'm sure if Handsome Jack puts it to them like that, they certainly won't complain," Barosky smiled as he blew out a stream of smoke.

Jax smirked. "I'll see what I can do. As for the rest of this shit," he nodded at the table, "I think the porn brothers made a big mistake in not giving you your rightful share."

"Not that I would have wanted it. Making porn is one thing. Those nasty fuckers were irredeemable," Barosky growled.

"Then think of it as reparations, back rent," Jax suggested.

"I guess that seems fair," Barosky grinned. "You're not too bad for a young kid."

"And you're not so bad for an old man," Jax replied. He turned around to survey the room. "I'm assuming the owner isn't going to be too happy about losing his tenants."

"Quigley won't be a problem," Barosky assured him. "I'll give him three months' rent on this dump. It's been sitting empty for a couple of years anyway. Condition it's in, it was a miracle he got anyone to rent this shithole." He kicked aside a broken chair. "This place isn't even soundproofed."

"The building structure is pretty sound though," Jax said a pensive look on his face. "It's out of the way, far from foot traffic."

"Which is probably why the sick fucks wanted it in the first place. No one around to hear the poor bitches scream," Barosky said soberly. "It's probably the most isolated building on the dock. There's a lot of good shit here too—HD cameras, computer shit. This could make a nice little legit studio for somebody."

"You took the words right out of my mouth," Jax responded with a wry grin. "Since it doesn't make a lot of sense for this shit to just sit here and rot, would you be willing to do me a solid?"

* * *


	45. Chapter 45

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sons of Anarchy. I do, however, own Marlowe and any other OCs that appear in the 2 Sons Universe.**

* * *

_**Thursday, August 5, 2010** _

Sitting at the bar, nursing his bottle of tequila, Piney watched as Marlowe paced back and forth. Shaking his head, he downed the contents of his shot glass as, like clockwork every 90 seconds, she checked the time on her prepay. The old biker grinned wryly as he poured himself another shot, noting that the Club medic was doing a pretty fair imitation of the anxiety the SAMCRO matriarch had exhibited herself only days before during Lyla's ordeal.

 _I was definitely right about this one. She's a lot like Gemma, just not nearly as crazy_.

Over the past few months, Piney had grown quite fond of the young woman. Similar in many ways to her brother Happy, Marlowe was the right amount of rough around the edges and not the delicate and aloof little flower that Jax's last old lady had been. Although he would probably never say it out loud, after what she had done for his son by taking care of Lyla, Piney would go so far as to admit to himself that he had a soft spot for the former Navy Corpsman.

However, as much as he really liked Marlowe, Piney was well on his way to a nice Patrón-induced buzz, which she was threatening to kill by stalking around the main room like a caged tiger and he was determined to put a stop to it before she did.

"Darlin', not only are you starting to wear a path on the floor, but you're making me damn nervous," Piney grumbled. "Why don't you just take a seat and have a drink with me?"

Turning, Marlowe eyed the ornery biker irately and only barely managed to bite back a crude retort. "Thanks, but I'll pass, Piney. I need to keep a clear head and pacing helps me think," she replied evenly before returning to her fastidious marching from one side of the room to the other. "I'm still considering whether to treat that pig-headed asshole before _or_ after I take a chunk out of his ass," she muttered under her breath.

_I_ _ knew _ _shit like this was bound to happen!_

As a matter of fact, Marlowe was using her time nervously pacing back and forth to mentally flog herself for not insisting that she be allowed to ride shotgun on the Club's run to Stockton. The Marine-trained sailor in her knew to always prepare for the worst while praying for the best, but the SAMCRO Pres wouldn't even hear her out. So much for making a compromise on not dictating how she did her job. Instead, Jax had "ordered" her to stay put in Charming, basically "putting his foot down" as he felt was his option to do when it came to protecting others from getting hurt.

She may not have been on tap to go to Stockton with the Club, but as pissed as she was, Marlowe had no intention of staying in Charming as ordered. Waiting until the Club had rolled off the lot, Marlowe jumped into her car and made her way to Modesto intent on downloading her frustrations on the only other patch available.

Reclining in his bed after almost losing his shirt to Amelia during a heated game of dominoes earlier, Kozik watched as Marlowe lost her shit and vented for a good fifteen minutes on the hard-headedness of the SAMCRO President. He had lived long enough to know that interrupting a woman in the middle of a tirade was a good way of having her take shit out on him, so he kept his mouth shut. Instead, Kozik let Marlowe go on and on about how she was a grown woman _and_ a war veteran and how she did not need hand-holding or coddling. She resented that Jax thought that she couldn't handle her shit.

It was Kozik's softly spoken words of wisdom that finally took the wind out of her sails as he assured her that everyone, especially Jax, knew that she could handle her shit. In spite of what she thought, Kozik was sure he knew why his Pres was being so damn stubborn.

"Doc, you're looking at this all wrong," Kozik started, earning himself a glaring stink eye from Marlowe as she went to open her mouth. "Hold on a sec. Before you start accusing me of taking his side 'cause we share a patch, think about it. You should know Jax pretty good by now. Do you think he's keeping you out of the fray because you're a woman or because you're _his woman_?"

Marlowe's gaping mouth suddenly snapped shut as she considered what Kozik had just said.

"Trust me, Jax knows what you're capable of. He also has first-hand knowledge when it comes to bad shit happening to anyone associated with the Club, especially old ladies," Kozik continued. "And before you start with the 'I'm not an old lady' crap, do you really think anyone looking to hurt Jax or the Club is gonna stop long enough to search you for a crow tat? I'm sorry if this irks the feminist in ya, Doc, but in our world it only matters that Jax _sees_ ya as his old lady and because he does, that makes you vulnerable."

Kozik's last statement had indeed irked the shit out of the feminist in her, but it had also gone a long way in giving Marlowe some perspective into Jax's thought process. She was sure that no one but Jax was aware of the toll the events of Bloody Sunday had taken on her. She remembered Jax later blaming himself for the PTSD episode he had comforted her through and it finally dawned on her why he was so insistent on being an unreasonable jackass. Although enthralled by the bad ass outlaw biker he was, it was clear that Jax took his declarations of love seriously. His need to protect those he loved was natural-born and Marlowe loved him for that and so much more.

Feeling somewhat contrite, Marlowe relaxed. With her self-righteous anger no longer simmering, she settled down into a chair and filled Kozik in on as much as she knew about SAMCRO's plans for vengeance against the torture porn producers. With Kozik lamenting the fact that he couldn't be there for his brothers, Marlowe decided to change the subject by sharing some personal good news she had received earlier that afternoon. Before she got the chance, however, she was interrupted by a text from her brother and in the blink of an eye, her self-righteous anger was back in full, flaming force.

 _Get your gear ready . . . Jax's been shot_ , had been Happy's clipped message.

On her feet in a flash, Marlowe had shouted the news over her shoulder to her wide-eyed father before charging out of his room. Jumping into her car, she made the normally 30 minute drive back to Charming in less than 15. In spite of her break-neck speeding, with her subsequent texts and voice-mails going unanswered, Marlowe was intent on getting back in one piece just so she could rip two certain patches in particular limb-from-limb.

Quickly prepping Jax's dorm by laying out the contents of her med kit on a tray table, Marlowe then poked her head into Opie's dorm to check on a sleeping Lyla before returning to the main room to begin her pacing. With Piney clearing the Clubhouse of non-essential hang-arounds, it was just the two of them waiting for the Club to return with their wounded President.

Suddenly, Marlowe cocked her ear as she heard the sound of peeling tires through the open door of the Clubhouse.

"Aw shit," Piney grumbled. "We're in for it now."

Hearing a car door slam and the sound of an agitated pair of heels click-clacking on the black top, Marlowe grimaced. "That we are," she agreed as Gemma burst through the door.

"What the fuck happened?!" Gemma barked as she threw her purse onto one of the leather chairs.

"The boy got shot," Piney quipped.

He watched as the matriarch turned to face him, a hard look on her face and balled up fist on a cocked hip. "Don't you play with me, old man."

Seeing the older woman's near-frantic state, Marlowe felt compelled to calm her down, if only to keep her own shit in check. "He has to be okay, Gem. I have to believe that Hap would have said something more if it was truly a life-threatening injury." Saying what she had hoped would calm the older woman down actually had a soothing effect on her as she considered how logical it was to draw that conclusion.

Walking over, Marlowe put an arm around Gemma's shoulders. "Come over here and sit down. They should be here soon. Piney, get Gem a drink and don't be stingy about it either." Settling the woman down at one of the tables, Marlowe sat next to her as both women watched Piney lumber his way over with a large whiskey. Taking the glass from him, Marlowe handed it to Gemma who took several deep gulps. "Better?" she asked gently.

"Not really," Gemma replied calmly, "but I figure the next step in calming down a hysterical woman would be smacking her and I strongly advise you _against_ trying."

Marlowe grinned. "Seems like the reasonable and calm old lady I know is back," she quipped.

"Honey, who are you talkin' about 'cause that ain't the Gemma we all know and love?" Piney retorted as he sat down across from Marlowe.

"Nobody asked you, old man," Gemma said tartly and sighed. Taking another long sip, she set her glass on the table and looked at the Club medic. "Your ass better be right."

"I'm sure I am," Marlowe said confidently, then narrowed her eyes as she realized that Gemma was alone. "Where's Abel?"

"Don't worry, sweetheart," Gemma smiled at the sound of motherly concern in Marlowe's voice. "Baby boy is just fine. He and Clay were watching TV in the den when we got the call. I left Grandpa on babysitting duty."

Relieved, Marlowe was about to ask another question when she heard the faint yet familiar roar of Harleys approaching the lot. "It's about damn time!" she snapped at no one in particular as she stood up, quickly trotting out the door with Gemma and Piney nipping at her heels.

 _He'd better be all right_ , Marlowe thought viciously, _or I'm gonna kill him!_

* * *

_**Friday, August 6, 2010** _

It was quickly approaching one o' clock in the morning when the Club finally appeared on the T-M lot. With Opie and Happy helping him to his room and out of his leather, Marlowe proceeded to cut Jax out of his jeans. Now lying propped up against the bed's headboard, Jax was wearing nothing but a white t-shirt and a pair of boxers.

As Marlowe quickly went to work on the SAMCRO leader, it seemed to her as if every Club member within a 5 mile radius had squeezed themselves into Jax's relatively small dorm. Even though claustrophobia was _not_ one of the many issues she had ever dealt with, Marlowe silently cursed every single patch hovering over and around her as her hands moved of their own accord in prepping Jax's arm for a saline I.V. drip.

Moving his head from side to side in an attempt to force eye contact with the eerily quiet medic, Jax grinned as she finally looked him in the face and snapped, "Stop fidgeting or I'm giving you enough sedative to knock out a horse."

_Damn, she really is pissed._

Shaking her head disapprovingly as she removed the temporary dressing Chibs had fashioned, which was now soaked through with blood, Marlowe muttered under her breath, "I can't believe you rode your bike all the way back from Stockton. Why take that risk?"

 _Stupid ass_ , she wanted to add, but figured that wouldn't go over too well with the ass in question.

Jax winced with pain as Marlowe gingerly probed the bullet hole in his thigh looking for bullet fragments, but in reality the pain was nothing compared to what the SAMCRO Pres had experienced on the ride back home. Still, he kept pushing himself mile after long mile because he knew the ass ripping he was in for once Marlowe got her hands on him would be far worse.

Surprisingly, however, aside from threatening to put him in a drug-induced coma, Marlowe barely acknowledged Jax as she went about taking care of his wounded leg. He smiled to himself, realizing that she was making quite the effort not lose her shit in front of his brothers. With each day that passed, Marlowe continued proving she was made of true old lady material and didn't even know it.

His mother, however, had no intention of maintaining the Golden Rule as it applied to old ladies. Standing next to Marlowe and acting as Doc's little helper, Gemma Teller-Morrow refused to keep her mud in check until the crowd of looky-loos dispersed, not giving a damn who was around to witness her lose it.

"How the hell did this happen, Jackson?" Gemma asked grimly.

"Ma—" Jax started with an eye roll, but was cut short.

"Don't 'Ma' me," she retorted angrily. "Anyone care to explain to me just how my son ended up getting shot?"

It was the ever-helpful Tig who volunteered the details of what had happened in Stockton after the initial smoke had cleared. Jax watched Marlowe's gray eyes harden into shiny marbles as she heard what had gone down.

"You actually turned your back on these assholes before getting the all-clear?" Marlowe quietly addressed Jax. Without giving Jax a moment to respond, Marlowe turned on her brother. "Un-fuckin-believable! Isn't it your job to watch his back, making sure shit like this _doesn't_ happen? Where the fuck were you?" she asked angrily.

"Hey! I was the one that blew the fucker's brains out through his nose, little girl," Happy replied irritably. "It could have been way fuckin' worse."

"No shit, Sherlock," Marlowe grumbled sarcastically as she continued to clean the wound. She was so angry yet thoroughly engrossed in the task at hand that she didn't see Jax biting his lip to keep from crying out. "Less than a centimeter to the right and the bullet would have nicked his femoral artery. Without _me_ there, he would have bled out in _minutes_. There was no fucking way you could have gotten him to a hospital in time."

"Well, I guess it's a good thing that shit didn't happen then, huh, Einstein?!" Happy practically bellowed.

"Absolutely," Marlowe declared. "No fuckin' thanks to you!"

"Hey!" Jax called out, not only in an effort to keep tempers from getting further out of check, but also because he was breaking into a cold sweat. "How about something for the pain, Doc?"

"Oh, really? So now I'm 'Doc'?" Marlowe retorted as she grabbed a syringe to fill with 5cc's of Demerol. Bullying Jax into rolling onto his side, he had barely finished doing so gingerly when she yanked down his boxers. In a blink-and-you-missed-it maneuver, she swabbed a well-defined and muscled ass cheek with one hand while almost simultaneously jabbing it with the needle in the other.

"Shit-fuck!" Jax gritted his teeth. "A little love's not only appreciated but encouraged, babe," he said about to roll back into place, only to be ordered to remain on his side as Marlowe started cleaning the entrance wound.

"Love," Marlowe complained with a disgusted look on her face. "I'd _love_ to be able to kick your ass right now," she retorted.

"Whoa," Jax started in a voice he hoped only she could hear. "Can we talk about this _after_ you're done poking around the hole in my leg? I didn't think—"

"That's right," Marlowe interrupted. "You didn't think—" She was about to go off on Jax for his bad judgment in not letting her come along, but bit back her words. "You still haven't answered my question."

"What question, darlin'?" Jax asked languidly, the Demerol suddenly kicking in and doing its job.

"Why risk riding all the way back here with a gaping gunshot wound in your leg?"

"Because," Jax started with tired irritation, "nobody rides my bike but me."

"Well, Pres, that would have made an awesome epitaph on your tombstone had you passed out on the I-22 and ended up getting your ass run over by a tractor trailer," Marlowe said dryly.

"No worries, darlin'. That's how my old man died," Jax smirked with heavy eyelids. "Tellers die hard and we die bloody, but we never die the same way twice."

Standing on the other side of the bed, Happy could see his sister's eyes ignite with horror and anger and knew she was about to go off again. "Marley," Happy growled, the unspoken warning to watch her mouth in front of Jax's brothers clear. "You can chew on his ass later. Right now, just fix his fuckin' leg."

 _Oh shit!_ Jax's eyes flew open as he felt a shift in Marlowe's demeanor like a current of electricity in the air.

"Are you fucking kidding me?! What the fuck does it look like I'm doing?!" she snapped. "You know what? You may have dropped the ball, but I'll be damned if I'm letting you distract me from doing my job. Get out!" Marlowe suddenly barked with unmitigated authority. "And yes, that means you," she pointed at a stunned Happy. "And you," she indicated at an equally surprised Gemma. "And all the rest of you! Get the fuck out . . . NOW!"

"Have you lost your mind?" Gemma sputtered incredulously, a hand on a cocked hip.

"Oh, you have no idea," Marlowe replied, gently but firmly grabbing Gemma by the shoulders with her bloody-gloved hands and nudging her towards the door as the room quickly emptied. "That, however, has nothing to do with the fact that I want _everyone_ out of here."

Chibs stepped forward cautiously to put an arm around Gemma. "I could stay if ya need an extra pair of hands, luvvie," he offered.

Marlowe shook her head, avoiding the death glare Happy was aiming in her direction as he stood rooted to the floor. "I can handle it, but stay close by in case I need you," she replied in a relatively calmer tone. "You did a good job in slowing down the bleeding, making my job a lot easier, you know. Thank you."

Tossing Marlowe a friendly wink, Chibs guided a still protesting Gemma out of the room.

"C'mon, brother. Let's go get a drink," Tig slapped Happy on the back of his kutte as he steered him out into the hall. "She prolly just wants to play doctor with her old man in private."

Shaking her head, Marlowe abruptly slammed the door in Tig's grinning face before turning her attention back to her patient. By the faraway look on his face, she could tell Jax was mellow and finally feeling no pain.

"Tiggy just called me your 'old man'," he smirked, high as a kite, right before passing out.

* * *

A groggy Jax came to just as he heard the toilet flush from behind the closed door. Rubbing his eyes free of their narcotic-induced bleariness, he could hear the sink's faucet running as Marlowe brushed her teeth.

 _At least, I hope that's Marlowe_ , he thought suddenly afraid that he had just awoken from a long and strange dream to find a croweater or a porn star making herself at home in his bathroom. _That is, after making herself at home in my bed_ , Jax noted the rumpled and clearly slept in left side of his bed.

Attempting to sit up too quickly, Jax grimaced with clenched teeth and fell back onto his pillow as pain shot up and down his right leg, forcing the events of the last 24 hours to come rushing back to him. Lying on his back with his left forearm covering his eyes, Jax took deep breaths, letting them out slowly as the pain in his leg ebbed away.

"Are you okay?" Jax dropped his arm from his eyes as he heard the quiet voice and found Marlowe standing in the bathroom's doorway.

"Yeah," he croaked, cleared his throat and tried again. "Yeah, darlin', I'm fine. Come 'ere." He motioned Marlowe over, who was wearing sinfully brief panties and a midriff-baring tank top. "What are you doin' out of bed?"

Quietly padding her way across the room, Marlowe crawled into the bed and into the crook of Jax's outstretched arm, which he promptly wrapped around her shoulders and squeezed her tight. "How did you sleep?" she asked.

"Like the dead," Jax smirked. "How long have I been out?" he asked as he nuzzled her hair.

"Almost 12 hours," Marlowe replied. "It's almost noon."

With Marlowe curled up in his arms, Jax watched the sun stream across the room through the slats of the window blinds. He smiled to himself as he recalled that the last thing he could remember from the night before was watching Marlowe kick everyone out of his dorm. Now it seemed, however, as if the militant and angry Corpsman had gone back into hiding—thankfully—leaving behind his soft-hearted and yielding old lady.

With his free hand, Jax gently tilted her chin upwards and kissed her mouth softly, inwardly grinning as she returned the loving gesture with equal fervor. "Thank you, babe, for everything you did for me."

"Don't thank me, you damn stupid ape," Marlowe bitched good-naturedly. "You scared the shit out of me last night."

"Really? I sure as hell couldn't tell," Jax smirked. "A _little_ part of me was afraid I wouldn't survive the dose of painkillers you stabbed my ass with."

Marlowe pushed herself up into a sitting position. Looking down at Jax with woe begotten eyes, she said, "I wasn't exaggerating about how serious it could have been, Jax. Even if that bullet had just grazed your femoral artery—Jesus! I can't even bring myself to say it again."

Taking one of her hands, Jax brought it to his lips and kissed her fingers gently. "Hap was right though. It's a good thing that didn't happen, babe."

Marlowe rolled her eyes. "Please, don't remind me of what a raging bitch I was last night. If Happy rams one of his heavy biker boots up my ass, it will definitely be well-deserved."

Jax arched an eyebrow. "I thought it was kinda hot watching you go all ape shit on everyone over me, _especially_ when you kicked Gemma out."

"Shit," Marlowe moaned into her hands covering her face. "I won't be getting a pass from Momma Bear for kinda-sorta pulling rank on her, huh?"

"No, probably not, darlin'," Jax chuckled.

Dropping her hands, Marlowe shrugged her slender shoulders. "You know what, baby? I know she's your mom and all, but I _really_ don't give a shit."

Reaching up, Jax put his hand on the back of her neck and pulled her face closer to his. "I know. That's why it's so fuckin' hot."

With their hands buried in each other's hair, Jax and Marlowe kissed each other deeply and hungrily. So hungry, in fact, that when Marlowe finally pulled out of their embrace, she laughed at the tent he was pitching underneath the thin summer blanket.

"You realize that in your condition, there's really nothing we can do about this, right?" she smirked as her hand grazed his erection, making Jax suck in his breath.

"Nah, babe," he grinned, grabbing her hand in order to keep it on his dick. "I wouldn't say there's _nothing_ we can do."

Marlowe shook her head and laughed. "You are something else, you know that, outlaw? With all the blood you lost last night, how is it even possible that you have enough pumping through your body to make you this hard?"

Jax shrugged with a cheeky smile. "I'm not one to let something like a itty-bitty bullet hole get in the way of a good time, darlin'."

Marlowe shook her head with amusement. "I love you," she stated emphatically.

"I know," Jax grinned cockily. "Bring that ass over here and show me how much and I'll show you how much I love you back," he offered, wriggling his blond brows lecherously.

Marlowe bit her lip. The medical professional in her was fighting a losing battle with her inner slut, who was down for whatever it was Jax had in mind.

"I am such a whore," Marlowe complained with mock self-loathing as she brought herself onto her knees on the bed.

Jax winked at her. "And I love it."

Bringing her lips to his, Marlowe pulled back just as Jax was going in for the kill. "Any discomfort or pain and we stop, agreed?"

"Agreed," came Jax's all too quick reply.

Marlowe rolled her eyes. "I'm serious, you horny asshole," she chastised. "I barely got the bleeding to stop—"

"I know. I'm serious too," Jax insisted with a chuckle. "When it comes to us, babe, you are in complete control, I promise. That's especially true when it comes to getting you to wrap those pretty lips around my dick—owww!" he howled as Marlowe tugged on a fistful of his hair.

"You are such a pig," she complained with a stern look on her face.

Jax tried and failed to suppress a grin. "And you love it."

"I know," Marlowe pouted petulantly. "That's what makes me such a whore," she said as she let Jax pull her into a kiss, whipping him into a frenzy as she invaded his mouth with her tongue, only to draw back far enough to bite his lips.

Jax groaned, his hand balling into fist in the caramel-colored hair at the back of her head. Although his thigh was throbbing with a dull pain, it was nothing compared to the need he felt for Marlowe throbbing between his legs. Pulling away, Marlowe yanked his t-shirt up in order to drop kisses on his muscled chest and over his rippling abs until she reached his happy trail beginning at his belly button.

"Fuck yeah," Jax heard himself moan as she straddled him in reverse, her tight round ass mere inches from his face. His hands drawn like magnets, he squeezed her ass cheeks tightly over the thin material of her bikini briefs.

Jax bit his lip in concentration as she gently pulled his stiff cock out through the opening in his boxers and stroked him teasingly slow. Grabbing a hold of her underwear by the waistband, Jax unceremoniously pulled down her briefs, exposing her pretty pink pussy to his gaze. With his hands now on her slender hips, Jax forcefully tugged her ass towards him, earning a breathy moan from Marlowe as first his mouth and then his tongue came into contact with her nether lips.

Throwing her long, wavy hair back, Marlowe looked down at Jax over her shoulder and smiled. "No pain?" she asked seconds before Jax's lips tugging on her soft petals caused her a sharp intake of breath.

Pulling away agonizingly slow, Jax licked his lips, her taste sweet on his tongue, before smiling cockily. "What pain?"

Shaking her head, Marlowe eased herself forward with great care, afraid that too much movement would hurt him, and stroked Jax with her right hand as she used the other to brace herself on his good thigh. Smiling to herself as her soft tugging and stroking brought small droplets of pre-cum to the surface, Marlowe teasingly ran the tip of her tongue along the slit on the head of his cock. Jax forcefully nuzzled his face into her now sufficiently wet pussy and growled as she finally took him into her mouth.

Letting his head fall back on the pillow, Jax closed his eyes and relished the pure pleasure and enjoyment that came with having the woman he loved worship him with her mouth. "Fuck," he groaned, suddenly feeling himself hit the back of her throat with her lips wrapped tightly around him. He also felt her hesitate and practically blurted, "Fuck, baby! Please don't stop. I shit you not, darlin', I am feeling no pain."

Content in the knowledge that Marlowe had been appeased by his assurances and that she had no intention of stopping until she sucked him dry, Jax opened his eyes and growled again. "Fuckin' beautiful," he said to himself as he ran his middle and index fingers up and down her wet slit, now spread open to him as she was bent forward, ass in the air. After gathering her slick moisture, he entered her with one, then a second finger before pulling her onto his face once again.

Even with a mouthful of dick, Marlowe managed a hearty groan as Jax simultaneously teased her clit out of its hood with his tongue before sucking it into his mouth as he finger fucked her. Moving slowly at first, Jax quickly gathered speed as he felt her muscles contract around his digits. Pulling him out of her mouth, Marlowe fell against Jax's uninjured thigh, her hand still stroking him steadily as he forced her to the edge of an explosive orgasm.

"Oh God!" she screamed. Panting as her core ignited a colorful explosion of fireworks behind her closed eyelids, Marlowe came with such force that she felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her after she finished riding the delicious wave to its peak. "Holy shit," she finally managed to say after catching her breath.

Without hesitation, Marlowe took Jax into her mouth again, eager to give him the kind of amazing release he had just gifted her with. Bobbing her head up and down, her mouth in rhythm with her hand, Marlowe lovingly stroked Jax's cock until she was eliciting guttural and animalistic sounds from him.

"Grruh!" It sounded like an angry grunt, but Marlowe knew she must have been doing something right when she finally felt him tense and swell in her mouth. "Ah, babe, I'm cumming," Jax breathily warned her in case she wanted to get out of the line of fire. Instead, as usual, she remained latched on as his dick twitched violently several times before he came in hot spurts down her throat, his hands locked down on her hips. "Fuuuuck," Jax groaned as he was finally done and felt himself practically melt into the mattress. "Come 'ere," he gently coaxed Marlowe off of him and back into his arms.

Kissing his mouth softly, Marlowe pushed his unruly hair away from his face. "After you come down from your orgasmic high, I think you're going to be feeling some pain again," she said as she winced with guilt. "I should give you something for the pain before it sets in."

Marlowe started to shift in order to climb out of bed, but Jax pulled her back into his arms. "Nah, babe. I'm feeling nothing but good right now. 'Sides, I don't like those knockout painkillers of yours. I'd rather stay alert."

Marlowe tensed and lifted her head to look him in the face. "You expecting trouble?"

Jax shook his head. "Nope, not at all. We took care of shit last night, babe. It's over and done with," he insisted. "I just prefer smoking my medicine, if you know what I mean." Jax winked at her cheekily as Marlowe glared at him. "Hey, the shit I get from Juice's weed shop is medical-grade and all-natural. I dare say it's good for me."

Jax chuckled as Marlowe shook her head and settled back down as she snuggled up against him. Lying for several minutes wrapped in each other's arms in quiet contentment had lulled Jax into a false sense of security. He realized this as Marlowe suddenly and violently tweaked his nipple through his t-shirt. "Babe! What the fuck?!"

"Next time—and I don't give a fuckity-fuck if SAMCRO's heading into the bowels of hell, _Mr. President_ —my med kit and I will be tagging along on any and all potentially dangerous Club business from now on. Got it?" Marlowe demanded authoritatively.

"Marley—" Jax started arguing, his eyes widening as Marlowe abruptly shushed him.

"Got it?" she repeated, unwilling to back down on this concession this time around.

Jax shook his head with a smirk. "Why is it that I'm always the one that gets saddled with the pain in the ass and stubborn women? First my mom, now you," he teased and almost burst out laughing as Marlowe turned wild and crazy eyes on him.

"Don't you dare lump me in the same category as your _mother!_ " she insisted. "I just gave you the best blow job of your life, so you might want to rethink that stance unless you want that to be the _last_ one I ever give you."

"I'm sorry, darlin'," Jax said, unable to maintain a straight face.

"Yeah, we'll see how _sorry_ you are after I'm gone," Marlowe huffed.

Suddenly serious, Jax furrowed his brow. "Sounds like you're planning on going back to Bakersfield after all."

Marlowe nodded. "I told you that was still a possibility, Jax. I can't in good conscience expect Ceci to get Amelia resettled back home by herself." Seeing the question in his eyes, Marlowe continued. "Tía's being discharged with a clean bill of health in two days."

"That's great news, babe," Jax said sincerely. "It's only temporary. You'll be back, right?"

Marlowe couldn't help but smile at the glimmer of hope in the sound of his voice. "Of course, you knucklehead. I'm just feeling like shit having to pick up and go now after all that's happened to both you and Lyla. There's just so much that needs to be done back in Bakersfield and Amelia's going to need the extra help until she's settled in again."

Jax smiled, more than a little relieved. "Don't worry about it, babe. Amelia needs you and you should go," he said adamantly. "Lyla's got plenty of people that will look after her, including her old man and Chibs and any number of old ladies up for the task."

"And what about you?" Marlowe asked, her brow knitted with genuine concern.

"What about me?" Jax grinned. "Believe it or not, I've had worse shit happen and I've somehow managed to come out on the other side just fine. Trust me, darlin', I'll be up and out of bed before the day's done. The last thing I need is Gemma thinking I'm some kind of invalid—God help me," he said as Marlowe snorted with laughter.

"Would serve you right for being so damn stubborn," she smiled.

"And here I thought you loved me," Jax bemoaned with mock sorrow.

"You know I do," Marlowe said suddenly serious.

"Yeah, I do," Jax almost whispered as he cupped her face. Reaching for each other, they kissed long and deep. Pulling away, Jax cleared his throat as it tightened with an overwhelming sense of emotion. "So how long are you planning on being away?" he asked, the sudden ache in his chest a clear indicator that he would hate their time apart no matter how short.

"At least a week, but more than likely two," Marlowe said as she delicately started to draw her index finger around one of his firmly defined pecs. "There's something else I need to drop on you."

Jax's eyebrow shot up his forehead. "A good thing or a bad thing?"

"That all depends on how you look at it, outlaw," Marlowe said cautiously as she peeped up at him.

* * *


	46. Chapter 46

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sons of Anarchy. I do, however, own Marlowe and any other OCs that appear in the 2 Sons Universe.**

* * *

**_Monday, August 9, 2010_ **

Jolted out of a dreamless slumber, Ima's body suddenly stiffened as she let out a low, pain-filled moan. It was ever so slowly dawning on her that the thunder piercing through her skull was not just a by-product of the wicked hangover she was rocking. It was also a signal that she in fact had a visitor as the earsplitting pounding on her front door finally penetrated the vicious pounding in her head.

Her brain fog notwithstanding, Ima couldn't think of anyone ballsy enough to come knocking at such an ungodly hour after a wrap party the night before. Even casual acquaintances knew that the porn star diva did not take kindly to uninvited visitors disturbing her beauty sleep, especially not after a cocaine and alcohol-fueled weekend.

Obstinately burrowing herself deeper into the multitude of pillows surrounding her with her blanket drawn over her head, Ima tried mightily to ignore the persistently annoying and extremely loud knocking. Once she realized that the pain in the ass banging on her door had no intention of stopping, however, Ima cut loose with a growl of frustration her throbbing head wished she had held back. Weakly throwing off the blanket, she yanked off her favorite black sleep mask with the bordello red fringe. Groaning, she quickly wished she hadn't done that as the bright rays of sunlight that illuminated her large bedroom stabbed at her eyeballs.

Accustomed to sleeping in the nude whether or not she had a bed partner, Ima slid off the red satin sheets and fumbled for the soft and fluffy pink baby doll bathrobe she had thrown on the chaise the night before. Hurriedly throwing it on, it barely covered her ass cheeks as she shoved her feet into a pair of matching furry pink slippers and slowly made her way towards her condo's front door.

"Keep your fuckin' shirt on," Ima yelled as she held onto the sides of her throbbing head. Nearly tripping over the pair of black Louboutin knock-offs she had apparently kicked off in the hallway, she continued to make the seemingly long ass journey to her front door.

After the week she had endured, Ima had been determined to enjoy the hell out of her wrap party in spite of her jacked up face. Stumbling back to Stockton and into her condo after the sun had already risen, she figured it had been mission accomplished on that front—even though she'd be damned if she could remember any of it. Judging by the brightness of the sun, Ima also figured she had just fallen into bed only a few hours before and felt completely justified in her intention of ripping the douche bag at her door a new asshole for waking her up.

Thanks to her broken nose, Dondo had replaced her in the latest epic he would be starting production on today and Ima's only plans for the day had been to sleep off her hangover. _Maybe_ later she'd crawl out of bed in order to do a little retail therapy with the intention of taking the SAMCRO medic's advice and getting Lyla a "normal" get well gift. Something pretty and girly to cheer her up.

Finally making it to the door, and without bothering to ask who it was, Ima threw it open. "Who the hell do you think you are banging on my door at the ass crack of dawn?!" she made a valiant effort to yell. With the rest of her tirade dying on the tip of her tongue, Ima felt her throat seize up. With the power of speech quickly abandoning her, she rapidly blinked her wide and bleary blue eyes in a frantic effort to erase the image of Jax Teller standing directly in front of her.

The SAMCRO Pres smirked as he took in Ima's disheveled appearance. "Actually, it's almost noon," he drawled as he went to take a step inside.

"Oh shit!" Ima croaked-yelped as she attempted to slam the door in his face. As if expecting it, Jax quickly caught the door in one gloved hand. Swaggering inside, he kicked it shut behind him.

Softly whimpering, Ima slowly backed her way down the hall but stopped cold as Jax spoke. "I wouldn't if I were you," he warned with a slight shake of his head. "I'm in no condition to chase after you, so just go in there and sit your ass down. NOW!" he ordered.

With her eyes darting between Jax and the front door, Ima realized that there was no way she could get past him and it was even more unlikely that she would make it back into her bedroom to lock the door.

 _He'd probably kick the shit down anyway_ , she thought dismally.

Ima felt foolish for thinking herself lucky to have escaped SAMCRO's wrath with just a busted nose. When the fuck was she going to wise up to the fact that people like her were never graced with luck—not the good kind anyway—and if she had been, well, her small allotment was about to run out.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Ima backed into the living room and towards the sleek leather armchair closest to her. Never taking her eyes off of the outlaw biker, the backs of her legs hit the chair and she fell into a heap on the slick leather surface.

 _This is it_ , Ima thought blankly. _I'm about to die on my new fuckin' furniture_.

Waiting for Jax to reach into his kutte to pull out his gun, Ima's eyes widened in confusion as the biker limped towards her instead. Pulling the coffee table so that it rested right in front of her, Ima watched as Jax sat on the edge of it facing her.

"We need to talk," he advised grimly.

"Talk?" She asked confused as she licked her extremely dry lips. If Jax Teller was indeed in her apartment to "talk", that would be the first time ever any man—outlaw biker, porn aficionado or regular random dude—had ever sought her out for a conversation. _We porn stars may be known for our oral skills, but they having nothing to do with talking_ , she thought a little bitterly. "Talk about wh—what?" she finally managed as she clasped her arms around her small frame.

"What do you think?" Jax retorted sarcastically.

"Lyla?" Ima asked blinking rapidly as Jax gave her a slight nod. She should have known that a day of reckoning would come sooner rather than later. Straightening her shoulders and folding her arms over her chest, Ima decided that if the SAMCRO Pres was determined to rip her a new one, there was really nothing she could do but take whatever punishment he felt she deserved. Not before, however, trying to plead her case one last time. "Look," she began, "you have to believe me, Jax. I didn't know what those animals had planned for her. Lyla's my friend and I would have never set her up with them had I known. Please—"

Jax cut her off. "I know."

Ima nearly swallowed her tongue. "You know?"

Taking a closer look at the biker, Ima noted that although his expression was hard—unforgiving, even—his shoulders were relaxed, his hands unclenched and resting on his thighs. "So you're not here to kill me?" she asked in a small voice and watched as Jax pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head.

"Do you _want_ me to kill you?" he asked casually.

"No!" Ima shouted, wanting to slap her own damn self for putting the idea in his head. "Look, Jax, I know Lyla's old man blames me for what happened and I'm sure you want some sort of payback for your VP. That being said, if you're not here to kill me then you're here to fuck me and I gotta tell ya, that shit ain't happening. I'm not taking a sniper shot to the head courtesy of your old lady. Sorry! Nuh-uh and no way!"

Jax looked at Ima with a furrowed brow, confused until it dawned on him exactly how the sniper reference connected to Marlowe. Ima watched as his sensual lips twitched into a slight grin before reforming themselves into a hard line. "Relax, a'ight? Ten of you couldn't compete with _my old lady_ anyway and I'm not looking to dip my shit in anymore rancid pussy."

Jax ran a gloved hand over his hair before he spoke again, and later Ima would think that it had been a good thing that she had been sitting down. "You did good by getting Lyla out of that hell hole and back to the lot without police involvement," he finally said.

For a moment, Ima wasn't sure how to respond. Jax's positive acknowledgement of her actions—although seemingly difficult for the outlaw to express—was an unexpected and pleasant surprise, the shock of which was clearly written all over her face. "Thanks," she replied faintly.

"No. Thank _you_ ," Jax said with sincerity. Catching a glimpse of a cocky grin blooming on her face, he continued, "However, your one-woman rescue mission doesn't completely absolve you. You still owe the Club one."

Ima's shoulders deflated as she sighed. _Should have known it was too good to be true_ , she thought grimly. _Still, whatever it is he wants, it's better than catching a bullet with my ass._

"What do you need me to do? Entertain some out-of-town patches? Another porn star fetish party?" Ima asked as Jax stood up.

"I need you to do what I tell you, _when_ I tell you to do it," he replied brusquely. "Take care of shit right and your debt with the Club is paid in full—and maybe I'll even make it worth your while." As he limp-strode towards the door, Jax tossed one last order over his shoulder. "And keep our little conversation to yourself until I tell you otherwise."

"Wait," she called out and Jax stopped and turned to face her. Ima quickly stood up. "Uh, is it okay if I visit Lyla from time to time, maybe hang out at the Clubhouse again? I promise, Jax, I won't cause any more trouble."

Jax looked at her for a long time, his face seemingly set in stone. "Yeah, whatever," he finally said before he continued heading for the exit.

As the door slammed closed behind Jax Teller, Ima let herself fall back onto the chair, her body sagging in relief. It was most definitely the strangest encounter she'd had to date with the SAMCRO Pres. Having him acknowledge that she had done right by Lyla had been surprising enough, but learning that he might ask her to do something for the Club was altogether unexpected.

With the outlaw biker now gone, Ima stood up, feeling somewhat stronger as her confidence returned. It wasn't always easy keeping up her diva persona, but Ima hated feeling vulnerable and had learned to use her looks and her body to keep people from seeing just how insecure she really was. In the business she was in, insecurity only got you put through the meat grinder all that much quicker. Letting the wrong people see the real Ima was dangerous as vulnerability could be seen as a weakness. In spite of showing Jax Teller a bit of her weakness, she had managed to survive their encounter intact. Now she was more determined than ever to get back to business as fuckin' usual.

The tougher the shell, the less likely anyone would _ever_ pierce her armor again.

* * *

**_Wednesday, August 11, 2010_ **

Opie watched as Lyla used her fork to bat the food on her plate back and forth. For the past fifteen minutes, he had seen her struggle to choke down two tiny bird-like nibbles. Giving up, Lyla dropped the fork on the tray table and pushed the plate away from her.

"Please get this away from me, Ope," Lyla pleaded as she reached for the bottle of water sitting on the night stand.

"Babe, you have to eat," Opie said quietly as he scooped up the tray and moved it to the dresser on the opposite side of the room. "If Gemma's meatloaf's not doing it for ya, I can pick you up something else."

Lyla shook her head as she took a small sip of water. "I'm not really hungry," she replied. "It's actually a little hard trying to keep any food down."

"Maybe I should call Marlowe," Opie responded, the tone of his voice fraught with worry as he sat down next to her on the bed. "You're not going to get better faster if you don't eat."

Lyla reached up to stroke his bearded face tenderly. "Don't, baby. There's really nothing Marley can do for me. Besides, she needs to concentrate on getting her family settled in back home so she can hurry up and get her ass back here as soon as possible. Nobody likes a grumpy Jax."

Opie quirked an eyebrow. "So you've noticed his foul mood as of late, have you?"

"It's kinda hard to miss." Lyla actually managed a smile. "Not only are these walls pretty thin, but _everybody's_ talking about how much he's missing his old lady and how not-pleasant it's made having him around."

Opie smirked. "Yeah, I have to say, it's been a while since I've seen Jax in so deep. It's really great finally seeing him in a good place in his life. His relationship with Tara wasn't always the healthiest, for either one of them."

With her chin down, Lyla peeped up at Opie through her thick eyelashes. "Some would say the same about us. Not being in a healthy relationship, I mean," she stated quietly.

Opie shook his head sadly. "That may have been true before, baby, but not anymore, especially not after we're done working our shit out and we _will_ work things out," he said vehemently. "I promise."

Lyla rapidly blinked her eyes in an effort to hold back her tears. "How, Ope? Is that even possible anymore?"

"Of course it is," Opie replied, taking her dainty face into his massive hands and kissing her gently. "I love you, Lyla Winston. The thought of nearly losing you was the wake up call I needed in order to re-dedicate myself to _us_ ," he said quietly, pausing for a heartbeat or two. "The day after you were hurt, I went to Donna's grave to say a final goodbye."

Lyla felt her body tremble as her eyes swelled up beyond all control and tears started falling down her hollow cheeks. "You did?" she whispered and watched him nod solemnly.

"Donna was a good woman and I was lucky to have her in my life for as long as I did," Opie started. "But my own regrets and feelings of guilt about how she died made it almost impossible to let go of her, even when I was lucky enough to have another great woman come into my life. I hate myself for having to almost lose you too to make me see how stupid I was for living in the past. I hope you can understand, baby, that a part of me will always love Donna, but I love you in a way I never could her because you love me in a way she never did. You accept me for who I am and what I do."

Lyla swallowed the lump in her throat as she swiped at her face. "I always have, Ope and always will. I knew almost from the very start what the Club was all about, but I didn't let that stop me from seeing the man underneath the kutte."

"I know," Opie stated as he took her good hand in his and brought it to his lips.

"But it never really worked both ways, did it, Ope? You could never really accept what it was that I did for a living," Lyla noted honestly and it hurt her heart to hear herself say it out loud.

Opie shook his head. "No, Lyla. I'm sorry, but I couldn't—I can't accept it."

Fresh tears started falling as Lyla realized they were back to square one. "But how do we fix what's broken if you can't accept that porn is what I do?"

"We fix what we can and me letting go of Donna is a big step in that direction. Whatever can't be fixed, we change, baby. It won't be easy for neither one of us at first and it may take some time, but we both need to get out of the business that's hurting our family."

"Guns?" Lyla asked quizzically.

" _And_ porn," Opie replied soberly and saw Lyla stiffen. "Babe, I was never okay with you doing just girl-on-girl. The thought of you doing _any_ kind of porn makes me want to punch holes in shit, but I agreed because I knew you needed to feel like you could take care of yourself and Piper. You're a strong woman and I love that about you, baby, but you're my old lady and as a man I need to know that I'm the one you'll let take care of you. I'm not the shithead that got you pregnant and then abandoned his family, Lyla. _I'm not him_. I may have a ton of baggage to deal with, but if what you want is to work shit out then I will _never_ leave you. You just have to meet me halfway."

Opie watched as Lyla processed all he had said as she unconsciously used her uninjured hand to scratch her arm and then her bare legs. As she continued to scratch herself, Opie realized that Marlowe was right to have him on the lookout for withdrawal symptoms. Lyla's lack of appetite, insomnia, and crying fits could be attributed to the ordeal she had endured at the hands of the Ghanezi brothers, but the constant scratching until she almost drew blood hinted at her body's reaction to going without her drug of choice.

The day they had first met, when Lyla brought her car into T-M for repair, Opie had spotted some empty cocaine vials on the front seat floor when he had moved the car into one of the bays. However, instantly drawn to her sweet personality, loving nature and banging body, Opie had basically brushed off his discovery as a one-off. After all, as they continued their relationship, he had never seen her high, except the few times they had shared a joint together and never in front of the kids. It never occurred to him that Lyla, so open and honest about her life, would be hiding a serious addiction from him. He had been so wrapped up in his own shit that it had taken Marlowe to make him aware of something he should have seen on his own.

Before leaving for Bakersfield on Sunday, Marlowe had pulled Opie to the side to discuss what she suspected was more than just recreational drug use by Lyla. Without making a judgment call, Marlowe advised Opie what to look for as Lyla went through withdrawal—irritability, depression, upset stomach, problems sleeping, and cravings for the substance. Over the last few days, with no access to the drug as far as he knew, Opie had witnessed her going through every one of those symptoms.

The room was deathly quiet as Opie contemplated how to approach the subject of her drug use when Lyla finally spoke up. "I love you, Ope, and if quitting porn is what it takes to make us work, then I'll do it."

Although he smiled at her, Lyla could see a trace of sadness in his deep green eyes. "That's great, baby," Opie replied as he reached for her hand. "What about the coke? Are you gonna quit that too?"

Lyla was momentarily stunned, but then realized that Marlowe must have told him and, surprisingly enough, wasn't angry that she had. "I'm trying, Ope. I really am. Marlowe and I had a long talk about it before she left."

"You did?" Opie was somewhat surprised as the medic had not mentioned anything about a talk.

Lyla nodded. "She's a tough cookie, said some stuff that was hard for me to hear but that needed to be said. A bump of coke here and there was my way of running away from the hard parts of life. In the beginning, I needed to get high in order to work. It dulled the pain and shame of what I had to do to earn money for me and Piper to survive. Lately, I've been so lonely and hurt that I started depending on it just to get out of bed in the morning," Lyla explained truthfully. "I've been going without since the day before the porn shoot, but I don't know how much longer I can hold out, Ope. I've been trying to hide it, but I'm in more pain now than when I first got beaten."

"I know, baby," Opie said sympathetically. "You're going through withdrawal."

"I'm weak, Ope," Lyla lamented as she started crying anew. "I don't think I can fix this, not even with you by my side." She watched as Opie silently got up from the bed and went to the other side of the room to retrieve some papers from his dresser drawer. Returning to her bedside, he held them out to Lyla.

Taking them, she quickly scanned the documents. "The Modesto Wellness Center?" she read aloud.

"Yeah. It's a rehabilitation center. As a matter of fact, that's where Kozik is doing physical rehab on his leg. The Center also has a inpatient/outpatient program for drug addiction," Opie started explaining. "It's a two-month program. You would stay at the Center for the first 21 days to undergo medically-supervised detox while taking classes and doing group therapy. Once you come home, you'll do the rest of the program as an outpatient. If we're gonna make our marriage work, you need to get clean, baby. We can get you in as soon as next week."

"What about the kids—"

"They start school next month, so Mary's okay with letting them stay with her for another week or two. By the time you get out and settled in at home again, your teeth will be fixed and you'll be almost completely healed." Seeing the panic in her cornflower blue eyes, Opie reached for Lyla and gently pulled her into his arms and nuzzled her neck. "We can do this, babe. I'm gonna be there with you every step of the way, I promise. And while you get better, you won't be the only one making changes."

"What do you mean?" Lyla whispered against his broad shoulder.

"Jax and I have a plan in motion that's gonna take the Club in a new direction. No one knows about it yet, but I'm telling you because not only are you my old lady, but we hope that you'll play a part in how the Club changes."

Lyla gently pushed Opie away and looked at him with confused eyes. "Me?" she exclaimed. "What can I do?"

"More than you know," Opie smiled at his wife lovingly. "Right now, you just need to trust me on this, babe. Once you've healed and get clean, you'll be amazed by what we can accomplish together. Just trust me."

* * *

**_Friday, August 13, 2010_ **

From his perch on the barstool next to his old man, Opie watched his best friend grumpily wave away the attentions of the third and boldest croweater so far to approach him since Church had ended a couple of hours ago. Sitting alone at one of the tables on the other side of the room, Jax was steadily chain-smoking his way through a pack of cigarettes he had opened at the Redwood table earlier that evening.

 _At this rate, he's gonna lose a lung before Marlowe gets back_ , Opie thought with a smirk.

The Club's medic and SAA had pulled out of the lot early last Sunday morning. They had first headed to Modesto to pick up both Happy's mom and his aunt before making Amelia Lowman's long-anticipated journey back to Bakersfield. With both Happy and Marlowe working together to get their family resettled back home, they expected to be out of town for at least a week.

Since Marlowe's mini-meltdown in front of the Club while she patched up Jax after SAMCRO's takedown of the torture porn studio, Opie and everyone else in the Clubhouse assumed that their relationship was a secret no longer. That and their very public display of affection as they said goodbye on the morning Marlowe left had finally outed the pair as a couple.

After she checked on Lyla one last time before heading out, Opie had seen the angst Marlowe felt at being torn between her duties to the Club versus her family play out on her face. He had also witnessed the strong emotion between the couple as they prepared themselves for their time apart. As Jax and Marlowe took an inordinate amount of time swapping spit while exploring the backs of each other's throats, Opie had shared something of an eye roll with Happy, who impatiently revved his engine.

_"Damn it_ _, Marley. The last thing I have time for is you getting the Pres all worked up," Happy had roared. "Don't make me turn the fuckin' hose on you two."_

_Pulling away from Marlowe's moist and sinfully delicious mouth with a wet sucking sound, the SAMCRO Pres cocked his head towards his SAA. "Too late, bro," Jax wiggled lascivious eyebrows at Happy before returning his attention to Marlowe's plump and eager lips._

Since her departure, Jax had tried putting up a good front but had failed miserably. Although he never mentioned Marlowe out of context of her role as the Club medic, it was clear that his foul mood was directly related to her absence. According to Gemma, Jax wasn't the only pissy Teller man missing the new woman in their lives either. Unlike his father, however, it seemed that all Abel could do was talk about "Arlo", constantly asking when she'd be back.

The last few days had been difficult on Opie as well, although he was sure that Lyla was suffering the worst of it. Her condition had worsened as her withdrawal intensified and there had been a time or two that not only had she broken down and begged him for a small bump, but Opie had actually contemplated giving it to her. It was tough seeing her go through such intense physical and psychological pain when all he could do for her during those times was comfort her as he held her in his arms. Thankfully, Lyla was fast asleep at the moment, giving both her and Opie a brief respite thanks to the mild sedative Chibs had administered according to Marlowe's instructions.

As was par for the course, whenever shit rained down on one member of their dysfunctional SAMCRO family, it rained down on them all and the last couple of weeks had been no different. Since it was clear that Jax had no intention of dipping into the croweater pool to take the edge off of missing his old lady, Opie figured it was his duty as the man's best friend and VP to get him out of his funky mood for a bit. Opie also hoped that shooting the shit with his brother would help in taking his own mind off of the fact that in the morning he and Gemma would be checking Lyla into rehab.

Tapping several knuckles on the bar top to get the Prospect's attention, Opie called for a refill plus another glass of Jack Daniels. Grabbing both drinks, he hopped off his seat and, passing a lively game of pool between Filthy Phil and Juice, made his way over to Jax.

"You don't seem to be in much of a party mood," Opie started as he dropped a glass of whiskey in front of Jax on the table. "You a'ight, bro?" he asked as he sat down across from his friend.

Seemingly unaffected by the noise and boisterous atmosphere in the Clubhouse, Jax flicked the burning embers from the end of his cigarette into the overflowing ashtray with his thumb. Staring intently into his as-of-yet untouched glass of booze, Jax replied, "I'm good, brother." His tone, however, belied his statement.

Now as Opie focused on his brother, he could tell that, at the moment, there was a lot of shit running through Jax's mind. "No you're not," Opie stated emphatically. Standing up, he slapped a heavy hand on Jax's shoulder. "C'mon, in the Chapel where it's quiet and you can tell me what's on your mind."

Opie managed to swallow a sigh of relief as, without preamble, Jax stood up and followed him. Taking his customary seat at the head of the table, Jax watched Opie close the door and take his seat next to him as he waited for the Redwood giant to start the conversation.

"So what's on your mind?" Opie questioned, his concern evident. "Missing Marlowe?" he quipped in hopes of lightening the mood.

Jax smirked and rolled his eyes. It seemed as if everyone and their old ladies were more than happy to point out the fact that he wasn't a fuckin' ray of sunshine since Marlowe had left. Not that they were off the mark, because they weren't. Jax _was_ missing Marlowe. What unnerved him was just how much he missed her—a hell of a lot more than he had thought possible.

Knowing that Marlowe was being tugged in two different directions when it came to her duties to the Club and her family, Jax had taken it upon himself to decide for her, insisting that she see to the well-being of her surrogate mother. True to form and as stubborn as ever, Jax practically had to order her out of town. He knew how important family was to her and had no problem making the sacrifice as long as it made Marlowe happy. Jax just hadn't anticipated how much not waking up with her in his arms would negatively affect him. Ever since acknowledging their love for each other, there hadn't been a night that they had not spent together, either at the Clubhouse or at home with his son. Jax hadn't slept so well in years and now, with Marlowe in Bakersfield, if he somehow managed to get four hours sleep, he considered it a good night.

 _Fuck that shit! She's never leaving my side again_ , Jax thought determinedly.

But missing Marlowe wasn't all that he had on his mind these days and Jax realized that maybe now was the time to get some shit off his chest. "Yeah, I'm missing my girl, but that's not all of it," he replied as he offered Opie a smoke before lighting up. "The fact is, brother, a big part of me feels responsible for what happened to Lyla."

Hearing Jax's admission combined with the sincere remorse he saw in his eyes was something of a shock to Opie. Blaming Jax for what happened to his old lady was the last thing on Opie's mind and he quickly moved to shut that wrong-headed way of thinking down.

"C'mon, bro. You can't lay that shit at your door," Opie stated. "The way I see things, I'm the only one that's to blame."

"Ope, it was my idea to talk Dondo into releasing Lyla from her contract. I've been trying to balance so much shit at once lately that I didn't really think through taking that step now and its possible consequences," Jax explained.

Opie could tell that what happened to Lyla was really weighing heavy on Jax. He also knew that in some way Jax must still be blaming himself for Luann Delaney's death, when in reality she had lost her life to the brutality of the porn business. Along with Georgie Caruso, the Ghanezi brothers were proof of that brutality.

"You had no way of anticipating that particular set of consequences, Jax," Opie reasoned. "I couldn't wait for you to get Lyla out of her contract because _I_ didn't want her doing that shit anymore. I was the oblivious asshole that couldn't see that Lyla was looking for a way out and would need the money to bankroll her escape. If I couldn't see that shit going on with my own old lady, how could you? Besides, there's at least one silver-lining to that shitty-assed cloud," he said with a broad smile. "Lyla finally made the decision on her own to leave that life behind."

Thanks to the obvious joy on his brother's face as he relayed the news of his old lady leaving porn, Jax felt his mood lighten considerably. "Congratulations, brother," he clapped Opie on the shoulder. "With Lyla working to get clean, that puts the pressure on us to start moving forward with our plans. I think it's time that I bring adding more legit businesses for the Club to run to the table at our next meeting." Jax watched as Opie sat back in his chair and analyzed the situation.

Opie ran a hand over his reddish-brown beard and nodded. "The timing's right. Ever since Bloody Sunday, the Cartel business has been running pretty smooth as well as our gun business with other crews. No hiccups to speak of, so maybe now's the time to expand our horizons."

"Exactly. We start now, it'll take a couple of months to bring the new business on line. Lyla needs to take care of her shit first, but do you think she'll be ready by then to help out?" Jax asked quietly.

"Honestly, Jax, I don't know. These past few days have been hard for her, so maybe we shouldn't hedge our bets on her sobriety," Opie responded honestly. "That being said, I don't think we should wait. By the time we're up and operating, Kozik should be done with his physical therapy. You bringing him on this is a smart move, Jax. Being a former junky, I know Koz wasn't too keen on the Cartel business. It'll give him the chance to make some legit money and, if we can bring Lyla on board, hopefully he can mentor her, show her that it's possible to live a clean life even in the MC world."

Jax smirked as he tapped his cigarette on the edge of the ashtray. _Looks like Kozy may end up with two daughters by the time all this shit's said and done_.

"Maybe it's time to reach out to Unser," Jax suggested. "He's been pretty patient waiting on me to make a move. That trucking company in Lodi has been keeping the pressure on him, upping their offer twice in the last six months."

"I'm sure the wily old ex-cop will stay true to SAMCRO," Opie replied with a grin.

"I said he was patient. Never said he was stupid. We can rely on good faith for only so long," Jax replied. "Before I make the call to Unser, though, I think its time we finally bring someone else into the circle."

"How you think that's gonna work out?" Opie asked with a raised eyebrow. "Hap's no weekend warrior. It might be a hard sell getting him to leave outlaw behind."

"None of us are weekend warriors and I have no intention of letting the Club go that route," Jax stated. "Can't picture any of us living a 9-to-5 life. That's why we still have other pots cooking on the back burner. But in the meantime, Happy loves the Club, will do whatever it takes in its best interest, so we need him on our side _before_ we bring it to the table."

Opie nodded. "That's gonna be an interesting conversation. Want me there for support, brother? Or backup?" he chuckled evilly.

Jax shook his head. "Nah, I think I need to handle this one on my own."

"You sure? You know you never said as much, but I kinda figured that shit eased up between you and Hap after he came back from Indian Hills. Still, he might still be feeling some residual anger about you and Marlowe."

"We're good," Jax assured him. "We cleared the air and now he knows exactly where me and Marlowe stand."

"You wanna clue me in, brother? I mean, I've been seeing a lot of PDA between you two lately, but what's the real deal?"

"She's my old lady," Jax leaned back and flashed Opie with a fierce grin. "She just doesn't know it yet."

* * *


	47. Chapter 47

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sons of Anarchy. I do, however, own Marlowe and any other OCs that appear in the 2 Sons Universe.**

* * *

**_Monday, August 16, 2010_ **

Having never really been in love before, Marlowe had not considered herself to be an over-the-top romantic or the overly clingy type of woman who couldn't bear the thought of her man being in the next room, let alone hundreds of miles away. However, the ex-sailor/soldier in her was surprised to find that not only was she on pins and needles the entire drive back to Charming, but that she was also down right giddy to finally be finding her way back into Jax Teller's arms.

Marlowe had barely slept a wink the night before as she lay in her bed, tossing and turning as she waited for the long dark hours of night to finally give way to daybreak. The moment she saw the murky horizon lighten into a rosy pink through her open window, Marlowe had wasted no time in leaping out of bed to take a quick shower. With her handy and very well-traveled backpack already packed and ready to go, Marlowe had thrown on a black tank top, olive green cargo "short" shorts and her trusty combat boots before following the delicious aroma of strong, freshly made Cuban coffee into Tía's homey kitchen.

Once there, Marlowe discovered that Amelia had already been up for the past hour preparing a final breakfast feast for her two children before they made their 3½-hour trek back home. Ceci, who had stayed the night to see her niece and nephew off, had been recruited to fry up some chorizo and onions, which had Marlowe's stomach grumbling noisily with hunger. As everyone gathered at the kitchen table, with the two Latinas doting on Happy as usual, Marlowe teased him mercilessly while shoving forkfuls of tasty food into her mouth.

It had been a busy week of activity getting both Amelia and Ceci resettled into their homes. Yet as they all worked together, there had been an underlying sadness as the three women realized that soon Marlowe would be returning to Charming to start a new phase of her life. Although Amelia had been very supportive of her decision to start over in the small Northern California town, Ceci had needed a little convincing, especially since she had not been given the opportunity to meet the main reason why Marlowe was making the radical move.

That situation had been partially rectified when Marlowe, who never went anywhere without a sketchbook had carelessly left one lying on the coffee table in the living room. Returning one afternoon from an organic vegetable run to Vivica's, Marlowe could hear the Lopez sisters laughing raucously through the screen of the open front door as she walked up the porch steps. Loaded down with several bags filled with a variety of vegetables, Marlowe walked into the living room and caught both women avidly flipping through incredibly personal drawings in her sketchbook.

An unexpected gift from Happy, who had tossed it in her lap one night as she sat watching over Lyla, this sketchbook was leather-bound and much larger than her more compact books. Marlowe had already spent a considerable amount of time sketching scenes of Club life around the lot, including portraits of the bikes with their respective owners and their old ladies. One of her best ones had been the stunning drawing she had done of Gemma engulfed in the embrace of her old man as they leaned against his ride.

Her two most favorite subjects, however, were Abel and his father.

The drawing that had Amelia and Ceci tittering like two teenaged girls stretched over two full pages. In it, Jax was reclining against the headboard of the bed in his dorm with the arm bearing the tattoo in tribute to his father behind his head. Along with the tattoo of his son's name on his left pectoral muscle and the ball chain around his neck from which dangled a silver bullet, Marlowe had lovingly detailed every ripple of muscle, every scar on his chest and body and the fine hairs that feathered his well-defined six-pack. That hair continued to blaze a brazen trail down his belly, connecting with the pubic hair that nestled his fully erect cock. With one muscled leg stretched out before him and the other bent at the knee with his foot firmly planted on the bed, his beautifully shaped lips were twisted into a sensual smile that mirrored the dark look of hunger that Marlowe had quickly grown accustomed to seeing directed at her.

The sketch captured Jackson Teller in the perfect heat of his full-on sexual glory.

 _And these two are drooling over it like it's a fuckin' Playgirl spread_ , Marlowe groaned. She felt her face heat up with embarrassment as the women graphically dissected the subject of the drawing and his—ahem!—member.

_"H_ _e's too pretty, Mellie," Ceci was saying. "There must be something wrong with him, right?"_

_Amelia rolled her eyes until they were in danger of getting lost in the back of her head. "Celia, are you blind or are you purposefully not seeing what's right in front of you?" she chastised. "He has a lot of—what do they call it—animal magnetism."_

_"_ _What he has is a big fucking pinga, hermanita," Ceci said cheekily. "Can't really blame Marley for being hooked in that regard, but to uproot her life by staying in that one-horse town—I just don't get it."_

_"_ _That's because Mamá dropped you on your head one too many times as a baby," Amelia teased. "You know as well as I do that Marley barely had a life here in Bakersfield to uproot in the first place and unlike you, I got to meet this young man. Even though I don't know him well, I can tell you that he's much more than just a big pinga—even though that certainly doesn't hurt."_

_"_ _Unless," Ceci started with a cheesy grin, "he's too big and Marley's too small, then it definitely hurts." _

_Amelia rolled her eyes again as she shook her head. "Ay, chica. Stop talking crazy."_

_"_ _I'm serious, Mellie," Ceci replied, grabbing the sketchbook from her sister to flip through some more pages. "Getting poked in the ovaries hurts like a son of a bitch, you know."_

_Knowing that if she had to endure hearing one more word out of their mouths she was going to hurl, Marlowe had dropped the bags she was carrying. Striding forward, she scooped up her book and slammed it closed, nearly scaring Ceci to death._

_"_ _Shit, chola," Ceci gasped with her small hand on her heaving chest. "Are you trying to give me a heart attack?"_

_"_ _Ceci, please," Amelia replied drolly, "she already did that shit with that sketch. At least now that you've seen him 'in the flesh'—so to speak—you know exactly why she's going back. If I was 30 years younger and not a modest woman, Marley wouldn't stand a chance."_

Marlowe could only roll her eyes as the two frisky Latinas continued to cackle merrily at her expense. She was so glad to see them so happy and well that she didn't have the heart to take them to task. Instead, she had picked up the bags and marched off to the kitchen.

Although Marlowe had her work cut out for her as Amelia's garden had become overgrown and overrun by weeds during her absence, working to get it back to its former glory had probably been the best part of that week back home. Crouched on her haunches in the hot sun, Marlowe had looked to her right to see Amelia on her knees happily digging in the dirt, wearing a big floppy hat to protect herself from the sun along with her favorite pair of floral work gloves. Even Happy, who had been gang-pressed into carting away bags of weeds and other garbage had a grin on his face as he watched his once-again healthy mother working in her beloved garden. Marlowe met his eyes and grinned as Happy tipped his chin towards her, the unspoken accolade for a job well done clearly written on his face.

Needless to say, Marlowe's final departure had been somewhat emotional. With promises of daily phone calls and plans to visit for a long weekend every few months, Marlowe had pulled off behind Happy, leaving two teary-eyed women in their wake.

Now, as they sped past the "Welcome to Charming" sign, Marlowe found herself doing a little dance in her seat as the miles separating her from Jax and her new life became fewer and fewer.

* * *

It was such a blistering hot afternoon on the T-M lot that the hazy heat could be seen emanating from the surface of the black top in rippling waves. Considering it was a Monday, the garage was not-so-surprisingly busy and with no current gun business needing attention, T-M was operating at full capacity. Along with its regular crew of mechanics including Wade, Lowell and Dog, many patches were donning work shirts instead of kuttes and wielding power tools not of the semi-automatic variety. In spite of the oppressive heat, everyone was working together to get the necessary work done expeditiously while maintaining Teller-Morrow's reputation as Charming's top automotive business.

However, while some were working hard, others like Clay Morrow were hardly working. Sitting on a small stool with wheels in the damp coolness of one of the bays, Clay relaxed comfortably with a cigar in hand. From his perch he passed the time by volunteering unsolicited advice to his stepson and his best friend as they worked on their current project, a Harley-Davidson Softail Fat Boy woefully abused by its shithead weekend warrior owner.

"I'm telling you, boys, the best way to fix that shit is to run it underneath the casing," Clay chimed in as with his back turned to his stepfather, Jax rolled his eyes. "Any other way and you're just opening it up to excessive heat on the line."

"I think the old man's right, Jax," Opie said crossing his arms as he tugged on the tubing. "I don't know what the asshole was trying to accomplish by modifying his ride. This bike barely has 15,000 miles on it."

Jax shook his head disdainfully as he continued to make several adjustments. "Whatever it was, douche nozzle's gonna keep us in business as long as he keeps trying to make his own modifications," he muttered. "You know what? Fuck this," Jax announced as he tossed the socket wrench onto the table. "I'm just gonna return the bike back to specs."

Clay chuckled dryly. "I don't think that's what the customer requested."

"I don't give a fuck what he 'requested', a'ight?" Jax retorted grumpily. "This dick bag knows as much about bikes as I do about tax law and you don't see me going into his office and telling him what to do. He fuckin' ruined this bike."

"Which is why you get to charge him for parts and labor," Clay snarked cheekily. "You know, back in my day, even when they were wrong, the customer was always right. That's how I kept bread on the table."

Wiping his hands on an oily rag, Jax glared down at his stepfather. "Then maybe you should haul your old ass over here and show me how it was done _back in the day_. See if you can make heads or tails of this shit."

"Hell's no, shithead! I've earned the right to just sit here and not do shit. Besides, I got my sweet little mitts to think about," Clay replied, popping his cigar into his mouth in order to wiggle his fingers at Jax. "Don't want to fuck 'em up now that Doc's getting 'em to act partially right on me."

With mention of the Club medic, Clay grinned as if on cue Jax dug into the pocket of his forever baggy jeans. Pulling out his prepay, he checked the time for the fifth time in the last hour.

"You looking at the time again ain't gonna get _Happy_ back to Charming any quicker, son," Clay said with a shit-eating grin.

"Hap? That boy ain't looking for our smiley face tat-loving brother," Piney said good-naturedly as he limped inside the bay holding an ice cold beer. "He's sniffing the wind for our beloved medic, as I would be too after over a week without _that_ warming my bed."

As a number of brothers laughed heartily at his expense, Jax's eyes glowed with irritation. "Who let you out of your cage, old man?" he directed at Piney with little to no good humor. "Why don't you grab that other geezer and head back to the Clubhouse, stop stirring up shit," he said gruffly as he shoved his phone back into his pocket.

"Why would I want to go inside when it's so much more fun chewing on your ass out here?" Clay replied. "Sometimes, you just make it so damn easy."

Clearly, Clay surmised, word around the Clubhouse was spot on about the black hole Marlowe Guthrie had left in their President since her return to Bakersfield. At first, Clay figured that his son had been killing some time with the attractive young woman by letting his dick off the chain after Tara had skipped town again. Since hitting puberty, the constant parade of pussy to take residence on Jax's dick would have put any seasoned patch to shame, so nothing surprised Clay more than realizing that his own old lady had been right. Gemma had recently gotten a bee up her ass about Marlowe being different and how she suspected that this one was _the_ one.

After a while, Clay found himself drinking the same Kool-Aid, hoping that Jax had finally found himself a woman that understood the Life and his role in it and loved him just the same. Unlike the surgeon—or as Gemma called her, the Doctor Bitch—Clay actually liked Marlowe. She was smart, sassy and knew her place, both as the Club medic and as Jax's piece of tail. Although Clay had no way of knowing just how long the relationship would last—after all, he had enough trouble keeping up with his own love life to worry about his brother's—he did realize one thing:

 _Jackson is one mean and cranky bastard when the pussy keeping his dick feeling loved ain't around_.

So when Clay's savvy ears heard the roar of a distinctive set of pipes closely followed by the low and throaty hum of an engine, he took a quick peep to see whether or not Jax had heard it too.

And he had.

Haphazardly tossing the rag he was holding over his shoulder, which Opie caught in mid-air, Jax swaggered out onto the lot. Suddenly developing tunnel vision, Jax walked past the Dyna that its menacing rider was gently backing into his usual spot. Ignoring his SAA as he headed straight for the familiar gray Impala, Jax practically had the driver's side door opened before the car had finished pulling into its own parking spot. Hardly waiting for the engine to stop and Marlowe to step out of the car, he grabbed her by the waist and pulled her into his arms. Without a word, his mouth landed on hers and they fell into a slippery and warm kiss of tangled tongues and nipped lips.

Barely escaping having the tongue sucked out of her face, Jax finally let Marlowe go long enough to catch her breath. Cutting loose with a loud gasp of laughter, she wrapped her arms around his neck. "Damn, outlaw, you miss me much?" she said, beaming at him as her eyes glowed happily.

"Baby, you have no fuckin' clue how much." He grinned and, in one smooth motion, picked her up and tossed her over his shoulder. Completely ignoring the catcalls and lewd suggestions offered by his brothers, Jax turned and made a beeline straight for the Clubhouse.

"I'm guessin' we won't be seeing Jackie Boy for a good long while, eh?" Chibs chortled as he walked towards Happy to welcome him home with a strong bro-hug.

"Looks like," Happy replied as he heartily slapped his brother on the back of his kutte. "Jax needs to watch that shit or Marley's gonna start thinking she's got him wrapped around her fuckin' finger," he said referring to the very public display of affection by his President before he carried Marlowe off to his lair.

"That's exactly what he is, pussy-whipped!" Piney said with a gruff laugh. "It's called young love, brother. Don't shit all over it."

Refusing to acknowledge Piney's comment with anything more than a grunt, Happy refocused his thoughts on how glad he was to finally be back home.

"So all's good with your mom, bro?" Tig asked as he chomped down on a Snickers Bar. "You got her all settled in and shit?" he asked around a mouthful of nougat, caramel, peanuts and chocolate.

"Yup, Marley did real good by Ma. Got her to see all her regular doctors in between getting the house back in order. Did a lot of grunt work in the garden too, making Ma really happy and feeling like she never left in the first place," Happy explained. "It's been a long time since I've seen Ma look so good and healthy."

"That's good to hear," Clay stated as he slapped a hand on Happy's shoulder. "We know how much you love your mom and how twisted up you were about her health. Now that all that's behind you, maybe you can relax a little, have yourself a good time and lots of pussy before shit kicks up again."

"Hey, speaking of pussy," Tig called out as he remembered something. "Jury called for you while you were gone."

Even though Happy remained as stone-faced as ever, as Tig eyed his brother he could tell that the man was on full alert.

"Yeah? And?" Happy asked casually.

"He said some acquaintance of yours was gonna be by the Club this past Saturday and thought you might wanna know. Didn't say who, though. Was it important?"

 _Well, damn_ , Happy thought. _Fuckin' lousy timing_.

"Nah." Happy shrugged his shoulders. "No big shit. Just some guy who was gonna put me in line regarding a new ride," he improvised.

"You? Buy a new ride? The King of Mindful Spending?" Juice questioned suspiciously. "Okay, something is definitely fucked up with this picture right here," he quipped as his brothers laughed.

Realizing too late that his little white lie had not been one of his better ones, Happy knew the best way out of the sitch was aggression. "How about I shove my foot up your hole, smart ass?" The SAA watched as the younger man put his hands up in a gesture of defeat. "I didn't think so," Happy growled as he reached for his saddle bags and threw them over his shoulder. "I'm hitting the shower."

"I suggest you avoid using the one in your dorm, at least for the next couple of hours," Tig called out cheerfully at Happy's retreating back. "I mean, considering that Jax's dorm is right across the way and the walls being so damn thin and all."

Without breaking his stride or looking back, Happy flipped Tig a double bird with both hands over his head before disappearing into the Clubhouse.

* * *

Marlowe grinned as Jax strode through the Clubhouse towards his dorm. Judging by his determination to get her alone as soon as possible _and_ in spite of the hitch in his step from the gun shot wound he had suffered barely two weeks ago, he seemed to be healing quite nicely. Although she would have liked a brief opportunity to take a quick look at his thigh first—or maybe even freshen up a bit—if the way Jax had kissed her in the parking lot was any indication, Marlowe knew that wasn't going to happen until he'd had his way with her. The blatant need he had expressed for her after a relatively short time apart made her insides quiver deliciously.

Kicking the door to his room closed behind him, instead of setting her on the floor, Jax settled himself on the edge of his unmade bed with Marlowe straddling his lap. Taking his hands off of her for all of five seconds while he removed his T-M work shirt, Jax buried his hands in her loosely pulled back hair until it was cascading down her back and over her shoulders. Cupping her face gently in his work-roughened hands, he pulled her into a gentler, sweeter kiss than the one he had branded her with upon her arrival.

"I missed you _so_ fuckin' much, Marley," he nearly whispered as he pulled away to look deeply into her eyes.

"I know, baby." Marlowe kissed the tip of his nose. "I missed you too. I'm glad I was able to do my part in getting Amelia back home and settled, but I don't want to leave Charming again for a long while if I can help it," she confessed sheepishly.

Jax flashed her a lopsided grin. "Good, 'cause I was starting to consider keeping you under lock and key."

Marlowe pressed her forehead against his, her heart beating rapidly in her chest. "I'm new to all this, Jax, but should I be feeling like this, like I die just a little inside every day we're apart? Is that normal or are we moving too fast?"

"I love you, Marlowe, so no. In my mind we're not moving fast enough," Jax replied sincerely.

"And I love you," she replied, grabbing his face and kissing him solidly and longingly on his lips. "I love Abel too and I missed him so much. How is he?" she asked, biting her bottom lip and secretly wishing Jax would tell her that Abel had missed her too.

"He's great," Jax started, not being able to resist the urge to lean forward in order to nibble on the lip she had been working between her teeth. "Actually, little man got really excited when I told him this morning that you would be coming home today."

"Really?" Marlowe allowed herself to smile broadly. " _Coming home?_ I really like the sound of that, Jax."

Jax licked his lips in what appeared to Marlowe as a nervous gesture. "You mean that, babe? 'Cause I don't just mean home as in 'Charming'. I mean _home_ home."

Marlowe quirked an eyebrow. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying—I guess what I'm saying," he started hesitantly, "is that I think you should consider moving out of the Clubhouse and in with me and Abel."

 _Shit! He wasn't kidding when he said he didn't think we were moving fast enough_ , Marlowe thought somewhat stunned.

"You mean move out of the Clubhouse _permanently_?" She had no idea why Jax's suggestion had caught her so off guard considering she had spent most nights at his place before leaving for Bakersfield.

Jax nodded, the look on his face hinting that this was something he had given careful consideration to while she had been away. "I know you were only gone for a little over a week, darlin', but having you come back feels like we've finally turned the page on something," he explained quietly, his hands gripping her bare waist possessively underneath the hem of her tank top. "I know you don't believe that we were ever just friends with benefits because we weren't—EVER—and I'm not some punk twenty-something year old looking for a good time and no responsibility. Not anymore, babe. I want us to build a future together and the thought of doing that with you and Abel under the same roof makes my family seem complete."

Still straddling the outlaw biker's lap as he bared his soul to her, Marlowe felt her heart clench painfully in her chest. It quickly dawned on her, however, that it was a good kind of pain. The kind that comes with the joy of realizing how much she wanted what was being offered to her, something she had never known she wanted or needed in the first place.

Jax suddenly found himself reeling, as if sideswiped by a Mack truck as Marlowe fisted her hands in his hair and slammed her mouth onto his. She hadn't verbally responded to his offer of committing himself to her, but she didn't have to. As his hands traveled underneath her top and up her back, he could feel her almost vibrating against him with tightly coiled emotion, her soul-searing kiss telling him all he needed to know.

With his fingers deftly unhooking her bra from behind, Marlowe broke their kiss long enough to pull her tank top off before letting the straps of her bra slide down her arms. Tossing the frilly undergarment over his shoulder, Jax pulled her towards him again to nuzzle and kiss her neck. With his hands grasping her pleasantly round ass through the material of her shorts, Jax gently guided her hips back and forth, grinding her core against the hardening bulge in his jeans.

"Mmmm," Marlowe moaned as she clawed at the back of the white t-shirt he wore, barely getting it up and over his head before Jax flipped her onto her back on the bed with a throaty growl.

Fumbling with belts, buttons and zippers, Jax and Marlowe playfully slapped at each other's hands and laughed as they each struggled to get the other out of their pants. Jax was the first to achieve complete nudity, managing to kick off his white sneakers and socks along with his jeans and boxers all while hovering over Marlowe using one arm to brace himself.

Although Marlowe was finally able to wiggle her way out of her cargo shorts and underwear, her combat boots remained stubbornly in place as removing them would require her to leave the warm cocoon Jax had created by pinning her to the bed. For a brief moment Jax pondered just how damn sexy the thought of making love to Marlowe with her boots on actually was. But the truth was that he was so desperate to feel that physical connection to his old lady once again—after 175 hours and 24 minutes apart—he wouldn't have care if she were wearing cleats with spikes that dug into his ass with every thrust of his hips.

Marlowe gasped and whimpered and Jax groaned as he lifted her long legs around his waist and entered her slowly. Looking into each other's eyes, Jax caressed her with every inch of his cock as she tightened around him, enabling Marlowe to feel that wonderful and familiar fullness she had spent lonely nights longing for. Jax felt her sensuous mouth curl into a smile against his as he settled into a slow and languid rhythm while thrusting himself deeply into her moist heat. Marlowe enjoyed frantic and frenetic sex as much as the next girl, but with Jax she especially loved the intimacy and connection they shared when he made love to her long and slow, taking his time to build up an explosive climax that would shatter them both to pieces.

"Welcome home, baby," he whispered close to her ear, detonating an outbreak of goose bumps all over her body.

Moaning softly, she clenched her pelvic muscles around Jax, causing him to moan as well. Marlowe closed her eyes and felt a tear escape and roll down the side of her face as she suddenly realized just how wrong she had been for most of her adult life. Home wasn't a physical location at all. It wasn't a naval base or ship or even a Clubhouse.

_Jax is my home._

After so many of years of searching, she had finally found where she truly belonged. It was the last place on earth Marlowe would have ever expected to find such happiness, but nonetheless, she had found a home the moment Jax Teller had let her into his heart.

* * *

Making his way into the Clubhouse, Happy ignored the laughter that followed him inside.

Truth be told, Tig hadn't said anything he didn't already know regarding Marlowe's vocal enthusiasm for Jax Teller's dick. Seeing as there were currently no croweaters on the lot for him to make some noise of his own with, however, Happy decided to take Tig's snarky advice. He had no interest in hearing the welcome home party the Pres was giving his sister, so he made his way to an empty dorm _way_ down the hall and away from Jax's room.

Tossing his saddle bags on the bed, Happy made quick work of stripping off his kutte and clothes before stepping into the small bathroom. As the hot water poured over his lean muscled body, he briefly considered the opportunity he had missed out on this past weekend. There was only one reason Happy could think of why Jury had been trying to reach him.

 _Tiny must have found her way back to Indian Hills_ , Happy smirked to himself as he let the hot water sluice over his body. _Probably on the prowl again for some dirty biker dick_.

"FUCK!" Happy suddenly cursed out loud. Feeling his cock twitch at the thought of the petite brunette, he wished he had thought to give Jury his cell phone number just in case.

Waking up to find that Tiny Bitch had ditched his ass after a heated and physically brutal one night stand, Happy had taken the time to _casually_ press Jury on any details he could get about her. Not surprising, however, aside from their kinks and preferences, Jury didn't make it a habit of learning too much about his clientele. After all, in his line of business discretion was part of the customer service experience expected by the men that usually frequented Jury's establishment.

All Jury really knew about Tiny was that she was something of a card shark who had made her first appearance at the Indian Hills gentlemen's club about six months before. Since then, she had dropped by a handful of times, always to play poker and always winning big. Hearing this had surprised Happy as his initial reaction to Tiny had been that she was obviously a high maintenance bitch. Women like her didn't make it a habit of slumming in raunchy biker hangouts playing a man's game like poker. In his mind's eye, Happy saw Tiny wearing some slinky but expensive dress while she sipped on Champagne and played roulette or blackjack in some high class casino.

Nonetheless, Happy had asked Jury to let him know next time he caught word that she'd be by his place—NOT that he had any _real_ interest in her. It was what it was and it just so happened that Tiny had been more than just a pretty decent lay. Having grown accustomed to being serviced by over-eager croweaters, Happy had soon learned that while the lady had no problem with being treated like a whore, Tiny not only expected but _demanded_ mutual satisfaction.

_And satisfy the bitch I did. Six fuckin' times!_

She was possibly the best piece of tail he'd had in a long, _long_ time, so it was more than just slightly irritating to learn that she had finally made a return trip to Indian Hills. Had he known, Happy would have left Bakersfield a couple of days early and maybe—

With a start, Happy shook his head violently before reaching for the cold water key. Giving it a vicious tug, he allowed the blast of icy water to douse him in the face as it slapped him back to reality.

 _Happy Lowman doesn't road-trip for pussy_ , he reminded himself with annoyance.

In hindsight, maybe it had been for the best that Jury didn't have his cell number. Happy had no problem with letting his dick do the thinking on some shit, but he _never_ allowed pussy or his need for it to control him. Stumbling over and falling into some good pussy was one thing; going on the hunt for it was something else entirely and definitely not his M.O.

Stepping out of the shower, Happy quickly dried himself off. Throwing on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt freshly-laundered by his mother, he grabbed his kutte and saddlebags and left the room. Estimating that enough time had passed so that Jax and Marlowe were just now coming down from their first explosive round of fucking like rabbits, he headed to his dorm to grab his T-M work shirt. With family obligations taken care of for the moment, it was now time to get his ass back into the garage to pull his weight.

Heading to his dorm, it occurred to Happy that in light of the fact that family business had interfered with his usual dick games, he was entitled to some kind of reward.

_And tagging Tiggy for a ride out to the Jellybean tonight sounds like a plan!_

* * *

** Glossary ** **:**

** Pinga ** **: Slang (a vulgarity, actually) for penis.**


	48. Chapter 48

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sons of Anarchy. I do, however, own Marlowe and any other OCs that appear in the 2 Sons Universe.**

* * *

**_Wednesday, August 18, 2010_ **

Pulling to a stop next to Jax's ride under the carport, Happy cut the engine and removed his helmet and riding glasses before getting off his bike.

The California sun had finally set on another warm and humid day and the clear sky was now dusky and the air substantially cooler as the day drew to a close. Pulling off his leather gloves and tossing them into one of his saddlebags, Happy's long, denim-clad strides quickly carried him up the walkway to the Teller residence. This would be the second time in barely a month that he was meeting with the SAMCRO Pres in his home, albeit under a different set of circumstances—or at least he hoped.

Happy knew that the last time he had turned up on Jax's doorstep it had not been with the intention of just talking shit out, in spite of what he had told himself. After their brief altercation the day they discovered Kozik's yet undetermined connection to Marlowe, Happy had been itching to throw a few more punches at Jax for the disrespect he had shown for hooking up with his sister. As stubborn as the little bitch was, Marlowe had been through enough in her life and Happy was determined not to let her add "personal and paid for croweater" to the long list of fucked up shit she had endured.

Fortunately, a rematch of the Lowman v. Teller bout was not in the cards. Instead, Jax had caught the somewhat jaded SAA off guard by apologizing for how things had developed with Marlowe, making his intentions and her place in his life quite clear. Once Happy gave it some serious thought, however, he realized that revelation wasn't all that surprising. Unlike the other men he shared a patch with, Jax Teller was the type of man that needed to have a bitch at his side, someone to love that loved him back. It wasn't at all _his_ thing—and he may not have been crazy about the situation—but Happy could understand that shit nonetheless.

For this second visit, _Jax_ had been the one to reach out to him, asking Happy to stop by so they could speak privately. Without further details, Happy had been left to wonder just what was so urgent. He was sure that if it involved a Club-related matter the Pres would have downloaded to him at the Clubhouse. The request to meet in the privacy of his home, however, had Happy slightly concerned. He already knew that Marlowe was playing house with Jax on a permanent basis, but Happy still couldn't shake the feeling that this "talk" the Pres was eager to have might have something to do with her.

Leaning hard on the doorbell, Happy waited patiently as he heard the sound of someone making their way to answer the door. Surprisingly, it was Jax himself and not his nanny who opened the door and greeted him.

"Hey, Hap. C'mon in." Giving his brother a welcoming bro-hug, Jax stepped aside to let Happy in before closing the door and following him into the living room.

The house was quiet, abnormally so in the SAA's opinion, and he cast his eyes around the house. "Abel asleep?" he asked.

"Yeah," Jax replied gesturing for Happy to take a seat on the leather couch as he sat down in the armchair across from him. "Elyda took him swimming today. That usually wipes him out kinda early, but he'll sleep through the night. You want a drink?" he asked, picking up the bottle of Jack and one of two glasses that were on the coffee table next to a large black loose-leaf binder and baby monitor.

"Sure, why not?" Happy replied and watched as Jax poured two generous glasses of whiskey before handing him one and settling back down.

The two men sat laid back and comfortable in their seats and sipped in companionable silence before Happy finally spoke up. "I get the feeling you didn't call me over just to have a drink, Pres, so what am I doing here? Is this something to do with Marley?" He watched as Jax set his glass down on the table, his direct gaze penetrating Happy's own.

"In a way, yeah," Jax nodded, "this has everything to do with her."

 _Shit, this doesn't sound good_ , Happy thought grimly, but decided that maybe it would be better to just sit back and let Jax speak before he jumped to conclusions by ramming a fist in his mouth.

"Hap, we've known each other for a long time, right?" Jax started.

Happy nodded. "Over twenty years."

"And you know I love the Club as much as you do, maybe even more, right?" Jax continued.

"You should," Happy replied. "It's your legacy, bro."

"It is," Jax agreed firmly. "It's the only life I've ever known. Some of my first memories are of me playing cops and robbers with kids from the neighborhood. I must have been 4 or 5 and I remember _always_ wanting to play the outlaw. The outlaw with a Harley and a kutte. In almost 30 years that shit hasn't changed, brother. Outlaw is what I do best," he stated emphatically.

And Happy had to agree. Although JT had saved his life in prison and had been his mentor until his death, Happy couldn't look back on his fallen brother while wearing rose-colored glasses. Although book smart and fearless, John Teller had also been a flawed man and a flawed leader. Even though the Sons of Anarchy had been his and Piney's blueprint for living a non-conformist way of life, SAMCRO's first president had failed to reconcile himself with the outlaw aspect he had introduced into the biker utopia in the first place.

Jax, on the other hand, knew no other way of life. Book smart like his old man, where JT got trapped inside the box Jax knew how to think outside of it. Although too young to be a member at the time, Jax had lived first hand the deadliest years in SAMCRO history starting with Bloody '92. The young man had been unfazed by the violence and death that plagued the Club during that time. Instead, in a way that emulated Happy himself, Jax embraced it as a part of the Life. Even before taking over the VP patch at 24, it was clear to Happy that Jax had the makings of a great leader and, to his way of thinking, he had yet to be proven wrong.

So even though nothing in what he had to say so far directly related to Marlowe, it was clear to Happy that Jax had been preparing to have this talk with him for quite some time. With at least half a dozen scenarios swirling through his brain as to just where this conversation of theirs was heading, Happy suddenly narrowed his eyes, unblinking and staring into his whiskey, as a thought occurred.

 _Is Jax thinking of patching out?_ he thought grimly.

Happy knew that pussy could make even the most bad ass of bikers go soft, which was why he steered clear of pussy with old lady aspirations. Some bitches just weren't cut out for the Life and Happy couldn't understand why some brothers put up with the drama some old ladies brought to the table. But Marlowe wasn't Tara Knowles.

 _Little girl's a pretty mean bad ass her own damn self_ , Happy smirked inwardly with a hint of pride. He knew that Marlowe was more than capable of holding her own while riding bitch with Jax.

Still, Happy pondered Jax's time in Stockton and knew that it had changed him. That was clear and to be expected. Nearly bleeding to death alone on a dirty prison floor could do that to a man and no one, not even Happy himself could blame Jax for letting it affect his outlook on the Life.

Caught off guard as Jax continued speaking, Happy's eyes snapped up and away from his glass to refocus on his President's face. "What I'm getting at is that I made the choice to live this life a long time ago and I always thought I was prepared to live with whatever consequences came my way. I do the crime, I get caught, I do the time. No sweat off my ass," Jax stated and then shook his head. "It doesn't always play out that way, though. Lately—these past few years—it seems like the worse shit we get into, the higher the price our women pay. I am nothing without my Club, Hap, but I'm tired of seeing my brothers and the women who love them suffer."

Picking up a pack of smokes from the coffee table, Jax lit one and exhaled a trail of smoke. He continued, "Out of everyone who's ever been SAMCRO, I think Ope and I spent most of our time grooming ourselves to be just like you, bro. We really felt your absence around the Clubhouse when you made the jump with Kozik to Tacoma. When other brothers were busy looking out for their own personal interests, you always put the Club first. The only other thing more important than the Club is your own family and that's something that me and Ope can understand and that's why I'm coming to you now. I need your support to do what needs to be done to save the Sons of Anarchy before it's too late."

Sitting across from Jax, Happy had to admit that he was intrigued by what he was hearing. It had been made quite clear by Jax himself that he had taken over the gavel with the intention of running the Club _his_ way. A big part of that included steering them away from the violence that would have been par for the course when working with a Mexican drug cartel. Listening between the lines, however, Happy knew that Jax wasn't done when it came to changing shit up and he was eager to learn where this was going and how, if at all, it affected Marlowe.

"Save the Club from what?" Happy asked in his gravelly tone.

"From itself," Jax replied as he picked up his glass and drained it dry. "You probably knew my father better than I did, Hap. You know that this cycle of violence we've been stuck in for the past couple of years is not what JT would have wanted. He and Piney barely survived Vietnam. They came back home broken men to a country that no longer gave a shit about them. Some people may call it falling off the grid, but all they wanted was to live the rest of their lives however they saw fit. They wanted to enjoy the freedom of the road without government interference, but all that changed the minute SAMCRO started dealing guns.

"Us getting involved with the Irish just opened the Clubhouse door to government interference. The money may be good, but we haven't been operating under the radar for a long time now and it's just a matter of time before the Feds try to take us down again. And next time, they might get lucky too because the Sons are no longer all about the brotherhood. Every one of us is consumed by greed and fear and that leaves us wide open and vulnerable. I have no doubt that if we continue down this path the Feds will one day succeed in infiltrating the Club. It's already happened to other MCs that have been wiped out of existence and you almost saw that shit happen first hand in Tacoma."

"Yeah, I did," Happy acknowledged grimly. "Had that shit not been dealt with, who knows how many of our charters would have gone down in flames." Looking down at his kutte, Happy noted the Unholy One patch above his right chest pocket. Although he had earned that patch in Charming, it wasn't until dealing with Tacoma's rat problem that he actually felt good about wearing it.

"Exactly," Jax responded with a nod. "I don't want to see my brothers locked up. Most of us already have two strikes, which means we'd go down for 25-to-life and I have too much to live for. I love my Club, but I've found a new reason to live for in Marley and my son. I know she resents me for it sometimes, but I'm an overprotective asshole when it comes to Doc. I've seen what can and has happened to SAMCRO women. Donna, Luann, Gemma, Tara and now Lyla have all paid a price for our sins and I can't shake the feeling that no matter what I do, I won't always be able to protect Marlowe." Jax paused, his blue eyes fiercely fixed on his brother. "That's why we have to get out of guns, bro. It's the only way I can see us protecting the Club and all the people we love."

Happy pursed his lips as he considered his brother's words before finally speaking. "Where does Opie stand on this?"

"He stands on this with me. More than anyone Ope has suffered the most because of his love for the Club. He was betrayed by a brother and did a nickel of hard time in Chino, he lost Donna and now he nearly lost Lyla. He knows what we have to do to stop this never-ending cycle of shit." Jax sighed as he ran a hand over his hair. "I know it seems like I'm dropping some heavy shit on you out of the blue, but I'm not. Even before heading to Stockton, I've been trying to figure out a way to help the MC find it's way again thanks to this," he said as he picked up the black binder that was lying on the coffee table and handed it to Happy.

Raising an eyebrow, Happy took the binder from him and, setting it on his lap, flipped open the cover. Judging from the dog eared and wrinkled pages, he could see that the contents of the binder had been read and re-read often. Looking at the title page, however, Happy felt a chill run down his back as he took in the stark, typewritten words:

**How the Sons of Anarchy Lost Their Way  
By John Thomas Teller**

**For my sons: Thomas, who is already at peace  
and Jackson, may he never know this life of chaos**

"Shit," he said faintly as his dark eyes looked up into Jax's blue ones. "JT wrote this?" he said as he fanned through what looked to be a 500-plus page manuscript.

"Yeah, he did. He must have written it some time after he returned from Belfast after Thomas died. I found it in our storage unit on the day Abel was born. It was like fate had taken me by the hand and led me to it, telling me that that day would change my life forever. A lot of what I learned about my old man and the Club I learned from reading his manuscript and it opened my eyes," Jax explained. "Up until then, I was okay with my life. I had the freedom to live however the fuck I wanted, a full pocket of cash, all the pussy a man could ever want and the Club was completely off the ATF's radar. No worries, right? But over the course of one fuckin' day, the Mayans blew up our gun warehouse putting us right back at the top of the ATF's shit list, my junky ex gave birth to our premature son who would more than likely die and I ended up with two bullets in the back during our retaliation against the Mayans. I'm only alive 'cause I stopped long enough to throw on a bullet-proof vest. I know now that JT's manuscript landed on me on _that_ day for a reason. He saw all these troubles coming and this was his way of warning me about what would happen to my family, the MC and me if SAMCRO didn't change course. That's why I'm working to turn the Club legit."

Happy sat astounded as he flipped through the pages and pages of typewritten words. "Shit, its' like JT's talking to you from the fuckin' grave," he murmured.

"I know." Jax nodded and leaned forward, placing his hands on his knees. "That's why I want you to read it too. You knew him better than I ever could simply because I was his son, but _you_ were his brother. JT trusted you with his life, Hap, and no matter how much I pissed you off because of Marlowe, I know that I can always trust you too. If me and Ope are gonna have any chance of selling my plan to the Club, we're gonna need you in our corner." Jax stood up and watched as his brother did the same. "I don't want your answer now. I want you to read JT's words first and if they haunt you the way they've haunted me for the past two years, then help me. Help me change the Club forever."

* * *

It had been quiet on the lot when Happy returned from Jax's place. Most of his brothers had already either grabbed a croweater and an empty dorm room to crash in or they had called it a night and gone home. Even the few hang-arounds remaining in the Clubhouse and the Prospects who stayed behind to clean up had left for the night. The only other body Happy had seen on the lot in the last hour had been Gemma's sidekick Chucky who had stayed late to finish some paperwork in the office before finally zipping off to parts unknown on his Vespa.

Instead of grabbing a croweater for himself on a quiet night like this, Happy had grabbed a six-pack of beer and made his way up to the Clubhouse roof. There he would spend the rest of the night reading about the man he had admired greatly and the deep love he had for the Club he had created, but ultimately had been unable to save.

Pulling up the hood of the sweatshirt he wore underneath his kutte to protect himself from the cool night air, Happy puffed on one cigarette after another as he read his way through JT's manuscript. He had always known John Teller as an extremely intelligent man, but was surprised to discover that he had been philosophical as well. Reading his introspection, seeing the joys and the despair that JT had lived with up until the final days of his life, Happy was starting to wonder if he had ever really known the outlaw as the man he truly was.

Growing up without his father, who had passed away when Happy was 3, the only male influence he'd had in his life had been the man who had mentored him in the art of tattooing. After the incident that landed Happy in Chino, he had stoically resolved himself to dying at the hands of the Aryan Brotherhood in retaliation for almost killing one of their own, the piece of shit that had tried to rape his mother. So he had been completely caught off guard when two white inmates—John Teller and Clay Morrow—had offered him protection.

Wary at first, Happy had suspected that he was probably being set up by the Aryans. Instead, he quickly learned that the AB had no connection to the two men. This only served to convince Happy to jump to the next logical conclusion, which was that they wanted him for their ass bitch—a fate he would avoid at all cost, even if it meant turning his own damn self over to the Aryans.

Instead, the young man found himself being offered the opportunity to make what he did not know at the time would be life-long friendships. Although from completely different backgrounds, the three men bonded over their love of Harleys and their hatred of authority figures. When he got out of Chino, Happy decided to take JT up on his job offer and the rest was, as they say, history.

Never really feeling quite at home in Bakersfield, Happy found himself embracing life with his brothers both on the road and in Charming. Now, as he read John Teller's words, Happy was discovering that the man who had saved his life had envisioned a completely different path for his Club and had been sorely disappointed that he had fallen short of that goal. While Happy understood JT's noble intentions, he certainly hadn't signed on to take part in some hippie-biker commune experiment. Halfway through the manuscript and Happy was still not convinced that Jax and Opie's endeavor to set the MC on the path JT had originally intended was the right one. That is, until he came across something that latched onto his brain and wouldn't let go:

 _"_ _Einstein said that any intelligent fool can make things bigger, more complex and violent. But it takes a touch of genius and lots of courage . . . to move something in the opposite direction. I'm realizing that my touch of genius and my courage are coming too little, too late. And I fear that for Sam Crow, there may be no opposite direction."_

It suddenly became clear to Happy that these same words had probably resonated with both Jax and Opie. In light of everything they and the MC had been through and all they had lost or had come close to losing, JT knew that it would take someone stronger than him to move the Club away from their downward spiral. With nowhere left to go but down, the two men were looking to put into practice JT's words of wisdom offered in hindsight. These words were starting to resonate with Happy as well and, strangely enough, made him think of Marlowe.

Spending the last few months in Charming with Marlowe had allowed Happy to finally accept the love he had for her for what it was. He loved her like a daughter and like any parent who loved a child, he would do whatever it took to protect her. With the fact that Jax wanted Marlowe in his life on a permanent basis finally out in the open, a fear he would not readily admit to anyone had nestled itself in the back of Happy's mind of what kind of impact loving Jax Teller could have on her life.

Jax had been on point about the many times the Club had put its women in harm's way. Not being able to protect Marlowe during her time in the Navy had been out of Happy's control. Having survived three tours of duty in Afghanistan on her own, now that Marlowe was settling down in Charming—and with the SAMCRO President no less—it was more important than ever to Happy that she stay out of harm's way. With her on retainer as the Club's medic, Happy knew that wasn't always going to be possible, as having her in the thick of the action on Bloody Sunday had proven.

The fact of the matter was that Jax was right. In order to guarantee the continued freedom of its members and the safety of their women and families, the Club would have to go legit and that could only happen if they shed the gun business. Happy had no delusions of being a visionary. Unlike Jax, he couldn't see how the Club could legitimately earn as much as they did from dealing guns and that could cause some serious friction within the Clubhouse. Many members had grown accustomed to not only the money, but the thrill that came with running such an enterprise, himself included. Unlike Kozik and Piney, Happy had no problem earning dirty with the Galindo Cartel. After all, years of earning on the other side of the law had enabled Happy to get his mother the treatment she had required to survive cancer.

But as Jax had also pointed out, Happy was one of more than just a handful of brothers that was one strike away from a 25-to-life mandatory sentence in a federal prison.

Finally reading the last page, Happy closed the binder and stood up. It was barely 3:00 in the morning, but with an important decision yet to be made, the outlaw knew he wouldn't be getting much sleep and decided that now would be the perfect time for one of his long rides to clear his head and think shit through.

Exiting the Clubhouse, Happy strode towards his bike, placing the binder securely in his saddlebag before getting on. He had given the last 20 years of his life to the Club. Now he had to determine whether or not he could separate himself from the outlaw dark side while still embracing the Club as a brotherhood in order to save it.

It was going to be a very long ride.

* * *

**_Thursday, August 19, 2010:_ **

"I hunree, Daddy," Abel piped up from his high chair, a slightly anxious expression on his face as he eyed his father who was rummaging through one of the kitchen cabinets.

"Keep your diaper on, little man. Breakfast is coming," Jax replied as he pulled down a box of Honey Nut Cheerios and a couple of bowls. Placing them on the table, he then grabbed the milk from the refrigerator and two spoons from the utensil drawer.

Ruffling his son's still-damp hair, Jax sat down across from Abel and made quick work of serving up a Jackson Teller special: two bowls of cereal with milk. With Elyda running a little late, the two Teller men were left to their own devices for their morning meal. Admittedly, however, the only thing Jax was pretty handy in making was a decent cup of coffee. His last attempt at cooking oatmeal for his son had ended with Gemma having to replace his microwave, so cereal with a cut up banana would have to do until the nanny arrived.

Yawning widely as he spooned cereal into his son's eager mouth, Jax used his free hand to take several huge gulps from his hot mug of coffee. He'd had a restless night's sleep and, as much as he missed having Marlowe in his bed, he knew his inability to sleep had much to do with the meeting he'd had with his SAA. Happy had been quiet and reserved during their conversation. It hadn't surprised Jax that Happy chose to keep his own counsel, leaving without hinting one way or another whether or not he intended to support Jax's plan.

Jax wasn't deluding himself. He knew that making any kind of change in an MC as old as the Sons of Anarchy wasn't going to be easy, especially if he couldn't get everyone at the table on board. Moving SAMCRO away from guns wouldn't only impact their bottom line. It would also affect how a number of Pacific Northwest charters earned as they depended on some sort of revenue from the gun trade for their livelihood. Ultimately, there might be some charters who would not welcome the change, but before Jax could deal with dissention in the ranks, he needed to get his own house in order first.

The knock at the back door startled Jax out of his own thoughts and looking up his eyes widened slightly as he saw the gleaming bald head of his SAA as he peered through the window. Getting up, he made his way to door and opened it.

"Damn, I didn't even hear you ride up," Jax said quietly and stood to the side to usher his brother in, his brows furrowing as he took note of the black binder containing his father's manuscript in one of Happy's large hands.

"Hi, Happy!" Abel perked up, offering their early morning visitor a friendly smile.

"Hey there, champ," Happy replied as he ruffled the little boy's blond head. Looking around, he set the binder down on the kitchen table. "Marley around?"

"Nah, she crashed at the Clubhouse. Luke and T-Bone got into some shit late last night and needed patching up," Jax replied, referring to two visiting members from the RougeRiver and Tacoma charters.

Jax watched as Happy pulled out a chair and sat across from Abel. "Yeah? I didn't hear about that shit. I guess I had a lot on my mind last night," he replied quietly.

Reaching down, Jax picked up his son and swung him high in the air, eliciting a happy laugh before placing him on a hip. "Let me put little man down for a while so we can talk." He started walking away and turned back. "You want some coffee? Help yourself."

Standing up, Happy grabbed a mug out of the dish drain and filled it nearly to the brim before taking a couple of grateful sips. He hadn't eaten anything since leaving Jax's last night and he was starving.

Sitting back down at the table, he watched as Jax placed Abel in a playpen with some building blocks before coming back into the kitchen. Refilling his empty mug, Jax grabbed the bowl of sugar and made quick work of fixing his coffee. Watching the younger man as he liberally dumped a large amount of sugar and milk into the mug, Happy smirked. "You always take a little coffee with your milk and sugar?"

"All the fuckin' time," the Pres shot back as he lifted the mug to his lips and took a deep swallow. "So," Jax drawled, "I take it you read the manuscript. Doesn't surprise me if you didn't have an easy night after that."

"No, I didn't." Happy reached over to shove the binder in Jax's direction, tapping it with an index finger. "That's some really heavy shit."

"Yeah, I know," Jax replied with a solemn nod.

After spending nearly five hours on the road, Happy decided that his first stop should be Jax's house before exhaustion set in and he forgot all that he wanted to say. There was a lot running through his mind and despite having worked out the pros and cons in his head, before he told Jax where he stood, he needed to lay shit out on the table. Most importantly, he needed to know just exactly what the Pres' endgame was.

"You do realize that dismantling a lucrative business that the Sons have been running for nearly 25 years won't be easy," Happy started rather grimly. "Earning with guns has been a pretty sweet deal."

"Not that sweet," Jax replied with a shake of his head. "By the time we ended up in Stockton, the Club was broke, the Russians wanted us dead, and Donna and Luann were."

"Not all of that was directly related to guns," Happy noted.

"I get that, but dealing guns has definitely been a gateway to the culture of violence SAMCRO has grown accustomed to," Jax explained. "Just like the easy money, brothers like you, Tig, and even me at one time, got used to the danger of being an outlaw. We got off on it, but with innocents paying the price for that adrenaline rush as of late, that's not a risk I can take anymore. I have a young family I need to think about, brother."

Happy nodded and smirked as Abel seized on the opportunity to make his presence known by chortling happily as he played in the living room. "I can think of a handful of other brothers who wouldn't mind getting away from the violence. This last stretch in Stockton was hard," Happy reasoned, "but if you kill guns, Jax, you're gonna need something to replace the income. We can't all expect to earn in the garage, Pres. Even if we could, it would still be nowhere near the kind of tax-free bread SAMCRO's become used to with guns. Have you thought about that shit?"

Jax leaned back in his chair. "I didn't just start thinking about this shit yesterday, Hap. I have a number of ideas cooking on how we can earn beyond the garage, with the added bonus of not having to catch bullets in our asses."

"Or in the thigh," Hap grimaced a little as he recalled the Club's last encounter in Stockton's Navy yard.

"Tell me about it," Jax smirked. "I know transitioning won't be easy. It's gonna take time and effort to build up the businesses I have in mind before we even turn a profit, much less start making gun running-type money, but I'm willing to work a little harder and take a bit of a financial hit if it means giving my family a good and safe life," he said steadfastly. "Ope and I have been working on getting these businesses up and running now while we're still hip deep in Cartel shit. I think once the Club sees that we can earn without bloodshed, it will make it easier to turn away from guns."

Happy reached into his kutte and sparked a cigarette. "Convincing the Club is one thing, Jax. In the long run, I can see that happening, but what about Clay? This deal with the Irish was his brainchild. He may be slowing down a bit because of his hands, but I don't see him giving up without a fight, and you know where Clay goes, Tig _always_ follows."

Jax nodded his agreement. "That's why I took the gavel from Clay and stripped Tig of his patch. There may be strength in numbers, but there's a hell of a lot more strength in authority and, right now, I'm the authority, along with you and Ope."

Happy drained his mug dry and set it on the table as he eyed Jax. "You took the gavel from Clay?" he smirked. "I had a feeling all this time that giving it up wasn't some voluntary shit on his part. How did you make it happen?"

Jax shrugged his shoulders. "Clay wanted the Cartel business. In spite of what he told Galindo, the Club still had to vote on it and after giving us protection in Stockton, I knew there was no way to refuse selling them merch without bloodshed. I couldn't let him operate unchecked anymore, Hap. I told him I'd back him on the drug muling in order to get the Club to sign off on the deal. I got everyone on board and the vote went his way but he had to step down," Jax explained. "Clay wasn't seeing the big picture. All he saw were the big fat wads of cash the Cartel was throwing our way. He had no endgame in place except for himself. He was going to make as much money as he could before he couldn't ride anymore, leaving the Club in a bad situation. He had no choice but to give me what I wanted in return for what he wanted."

"I'm guessing he doesn't know your plan is to get out of guns altogether," Happy said and smiled wryly as Jax shook his head, his admiration finally making it through to Jax.

Suddenly, Jax started to feel the tension leave him. Happy wasn't the kind of man that wore his feelings on his sleeve. Brooding and brutal he might be, but Happy was also a thinker first and not reactionary, unlike Tig. From what Jax could tell, it seemed as if the tough-minded biker was leaning towards giving him his support. That is, until he posed his next question.

"Okay, let's say you're on the right track. You've put yourself in a position to legitimize the Sons by lining up businesses that the Club can run—none of which you've told me about. It all sounds good on paper, but I can think of two problems you are gonna have a seriously tough time overcoming."

"The Cartel and the Irish," Jax replied and watched as Happy nodded.

"After what we saw go down in Belfast, I'm thinking we might not want to fuck around with the RIRA," Happy stated. "Throw the Cartel into the mix and you have a fistful of dynamite looking for a place to explode. How are we getting out of bed with the Irish and the Cartel without serious blowback?"

Jax ran a hand through his hair. "I'm not completely sure at this point. I do know that if we're pulling out, then we need to fill the void, provide the Irish with a new business partner that can afford to buy their merch. The Cartel I'm less concerned about. Galindo will eventually settle their beef with Lobos Sonora and end up taking over their territory."

"At which point, their need for high caliber weapons will probably drop significantly," Happy nodded with understanding.

"Exactly. We have to continue running guns for the Irish in the meantime, but I have a few ideas on how to finally sever our connection," Jax got up to get the pot of coffee to refresh their mugs.

"Sounds like you have a lot of plays in motion, bro," Happy said as his mug was filled.

"I do, which is why I need my two officers backing me on this. For us to have a chance, we need to present a united front, brother." Jax sat down and faced his SAA. "So what's it gonna be, Hap? You in?"

Happy looked at him, as an ornery expression crossed his features. "Shit, I was in from the moment my ass walked in the back door," he said as a smile crept over his features.

Standing up, Jax extended a hand to his brother and, pulling him up, embraced him with a back slapping bro-hug. "This is good news. Really good news."

"Just one thing," Happy started as he eyed the younger man. "You know how much I love the Club and how much I love Marley. I want what's best for both and getting out of guns protects all of us, especially her. But I've lived this life for a long time and I might be too old to change, Jax. I'm an outlaw. I thrive on that shit. I just need to know that once you've restructured the Club and shit's all settled, if I start feeling the outlaw itch again, you won't block me from jumping charters or going Nomad."

Jax's brow furrowed as he ran a hand over the hair on his chin. "If that's what you want, brother, you know I won't stand in your way."

Happy nodded. "Good. And I promise you that I will do everything in my power to help you save our Club."

* * *

**_Friday, August 21, 2010_ **

Sitting in his chair at the Redwood table, to the casual observer Piney Winston appeared to be his normally ornery self as he poured himself another shot of tequila from the half-empty bottle in front of him. However, tonight was no ordinary Church meeting and the usually grumpy biker grinned inwardly as he placed the probability of Clay pitching a hissy fit as extremely high tonight.

Piney knew Clarence Morrow like the back of his hand. He should, after all, he was the one responsible for sponsoring him as a young man. Nearly ten years his junior, Clay had been the last of the First 9 member to join the Sons of Anarchy. However, Clay had been a different man back then, more grounded and less self-serving than the man he had morphed into upon taking over the gavel after the death of John Teller.

On some levels, Piney knew that Clay still had love for the Club and his brothers, but there had been so much bad blood between them in the wake of Donna Winston's murder that Piney was hard-pressed to find it in his heart to forgive his actions. It was the death of his son's old lady and mother of his grandchildren that had moved Piney to share with Jax the true legacy his father had intended to leave behind for his son. Today, nearly 18 years after JT's death, he would finally witness Jax take the first step in moving the Club back onto the path that it had always been meant to be on.

Suddenly, Piney grinned as Bobby—in his job as the Club's Treasurer—finished reviewing the Club's current financial affairs. Looking down at the far end of the table, at the calm and collected man sitting with the gavel by his right hand, Piney nodded slightly and Jax returned it with a quick wink, the cue Piney had been waiting for all night.

Jax leaned back in his chair allowing his eyes to survey the room. He had to wait nearly thirty minutes while general Club business had been dissected and discussed and now it was time for him to make his announcement.

"Before we close, I want to talk about some new business I wanted to advise the Club about," he said and watched as several patches shifted in their chairs at his words. "As you know, we've been pretty fortunate in our association with the Cartel. Despite the shit that went down a couple of months ago with Bloody Sunday and Kozik being seriously hurt, we've managed to conduct our business with Galindo while staying off of law enforcement radar. Now, I believe I have been presented with an opportunity to further foster the belief that the Club has turned over a new leaf by sticking to the straight and narrow path."

"How do we do 'dat, brutha?" Chibs asked skeptically.

"By investing in a completely legitimate business," Jax replied and sat back to listen to the quiet rumblings around the table.

"That sounds like a pretty big enterprise," Tig said as he played with his favorite lighter. "I mean, aren't our hands full enough with the Cartel business _and_ the garage?"

"You took the words right out my mouth, Tiggy," Clay cut in. Sitting forward in his chair, he raised a hand that held one of his favorite cigars and used it in a stabbing motion to make his point. "We're doing two runs a month for the Cartel, not to mention keeping our other clients stocked and fully loaded as well. I can't see how another Club-run venture would be the best play for us now."

"You may be right," Jax started, "which is why for right now this new business won't be Club action. It's something that Piney and I have decided to go into together."

"Yeah," Piney said as he leaned back to eye Clay with a shit-eating grin. "I figure it's time I put some of that Cartel money I've been sitting on to good use by making it work towards my retirement," he said expansively.

"So what's the business?" Juice asked with interest.

"A money stream that for us is entirely feasible," Jax replied with a grin. "We're buying Unser Trucking."

"Shit, really?" Tig asked incredulously. "Why? Is cancer boy finally checking out?"

"Nope," Jax replied casually. "In fact, it seems like retirement from Charming PD agrees with him. Haven't seen him looking so spunky and spry in a long time."

"So when did this shit happen, you, Piney and Unser teaming up?" Bobby asked curiously.

"Early in the summer," Jax replied. "I happened to overhear a conversation he was having about selling the business to a trucking company in Lodi. I asked him in good faith not to act on their offer until I had a chance to look at his books and figure out the logistics of taking on another business."

"Obviously you didn't think it through enough if you're actually considering this shit," Clay said irritably.

"Oh, I thought about it," Jax said smugly. "Then I thought about it again and the simple fact is that Unser Trucking is tailor-made for us. Think about it, what could make more sense than as group of mechanics we take on another business in the automotive industry? Besides, everyone knows that we've provided protection for Unser's trucks for years. Taking over the business now that he was thinking about selling it makes perfect sense. We keep another mom-and-pop business out of corporate hands and maintain Charming's small town integrity."

"That may be so," Clay said impatiently, "but there is such a thing as biting off more than we can chew. Too many balls in the air and we're bound to drop one. 'Sides, what the fuck do we know about running a trucking business?"

"Next to nothing," Jax agreed, "but Unser knows everything. I've spent a good deal of time looking into his business plan, checking his books, his contacts and his client list. He's built a pretty solid business, but like a lot of small businesses nowadays, he needs an injection of cash to propel it forward. Some new equipment, more trucks and drivers in order to nail those larger accounts that are out there. One of the biggest issues costing trucking companies a lot of money is protecting their cargo from hijackers."

"And with the Sons running protection, who would fuck with us?" Happy said from his position on Jax's right.

"That's right," Opie replied. "In our entire history with Unser Trucking, only one shipment didn't make it to it's final destination."

"Yeah," Jax smirked. "The one that mysteriously fell into Cacuzza's hands, but I have a feeling that was an inside job," he said, pointedly looking at Clay.

"How are you splitting the profits between you three?" Bobby asked, referring to Jax, Piney and Unser.

"It'll be a 50/50 split for the first year," Jax responded. "Eventually, the plan is to buy Unser out, but not before he does some training for us on how to run the business. There's room for several business savvy patches who wanna earn legit to handle the books or run the front of the house. I know some of you are thinking that bringing this to the table now is a premature move on my part," he said once again looking at Clay. "But Piney and I are taking the initial hit on this. I just wanted to put it out there and in a couple of months, we'll revisit the issue to see whether or not the Club wants to come on board. I know the trucking business ain't as sexy as running a porn studio, but if done right, this could turn into a nice and steady flow of income for the Sons. In the meantime, Unser wants us to start running some protection gigs again, which of course, we will pay for. Anyone who wants in, just see me about it and I will set up a roster." Jax eyed his brothers and noted the look of interest and speculation on their faces and inwardly grinned. "Any questions?" Noting the silence, he picked up the gavel and slammed it down. "So let's get the party started."

The Chapel started clearing out as the patches headed for the bar. Glancing to his left and then his right, Jax gave his officers a discreet nod. As suspected, Clay didn't take the first shot across the bow all that well, but Jax figured he had brought himself some time by not pushing for a vote to make it Club business. Seeing Unser Trucking flourish would be enough to build up the idea in his brothers' minds that expanding might be something worthy of consideration.

It was but the first step in a large and bold plan to move the Sons of Anarchy away from outlaw. In putting his father's hopes and dreams in motion, Jax had answered the call of duty to turn the Club around, ultimately saving it, himself and his brothers.

Standing up, Jax motioned for Opie and Happy to join him at the bar, now more determined than ever to not let anything or _anyone_ get in his way.


	49. Chapter 49

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sons of Anarchy. I do, however, own Marlowe and any other OCs that appear in the 2 Sons Universe** **.**

* * *

**_Monday, August 24, 2010_ **

Jax wasn't the type of sleeper that eased himself into waking up in the mornings. That had been true even before he had spent any significant amount of time in prison, where everyone quickly learned to sleep with an ear open to any sign of trouble. Jax never really woke up as much as he startled into consciousness and sometimes, especially when he had enjoyed a restful night's sleep, he had to take a minute to remember that he was no longer in lock up.

That was especially true on this morning as he jolted awake, his left hand instinctively gliding over the cool and smooth bed sheet and finding the space next to him empty. Before his bleary mind could convince him that he was back in Stockton, Jax rubbed his face with both hands as he reminded himself that he shared his bed with a woman accustomed to getting up with the chickens. Instead of adhering to her somewhat obsessive workout schedule, however, Jax knew Marlowe had another reason for being up before what was considered a decent time in the Teller household.

 _Today's her first day on her new job_ , Jax said to himself, recalling the bomb she had dropped on him several weeks ago before heading off to Bakersfield with her family.

At the time, Jax hadn't understood her apprehension about telling him. After all, getting a full-time job was just another sign that she planned on staying put in Charming. Now, however, as he contemplated the long hours ahead of him as he went about his day without seeing her on the lot or around the Clubhouse, Jax was starting to feel a little put out. He was going to miss her and even he couldn't stand himself when he was missing his old lady.

Instead of letting a little separation anxiety ruin his day, Jax threw the covers off and jumped out of bed. Slipping into the discarded boxers he picked up off the floor, Jax headed to the bathroom to water the lily and take care of some personal hygiene before he went on the prowl for his old lady.

Although the sun was up, the house was eerily quiet as Jax padded his way barefoot from the bathroom to the kitchen. Marlowe, who seemed preoccupied as she flipped through some papers, was leaning against the counter in a pair of nicely fitted dress slacks and a white silk blouse.

Using to his advantage the fact that she had not heard him enter, Jax stealthily crossed the room and wrapped his arms around Marlowe's waist from behind, pulling her flush against his body. "This is a new look for ya, darlin'," he growled against her ear. "I kinda like."

"Down, boy," Marlowe smirked and then gasped as Jax bit her neck, his hands cupping then squeezing her breasts.

"Mmmm, too late," Jax murmured as he continued nuzzling her neck, his semi-erection pressing into her backside.

Marlowe giggled as her skin broke out in goosebumps. "I can't see how me in a cookie-cutter pantsuit can possibly turn you on, outlaw." Managing to turn herself around, she found herself pushed up against the counter, the pot of coffee she had been waiting on forgotten as Jax amped up his assault on her quickly-responding body.

Jax groaned sexily as Marlowe fisted her hands in his tousled hair and tugged. "It's fuckin' hot, actually," he arched an eyebrow as his hands fell to her ass.

"You're so sweet," Marlowe pouted playfully, "but don't get used to the monkey suit. It's my first day on the job and I figured the occasion called for something other than jeans and combat boots."

"That's a'ight, babe. I bet you're gonna look even hotter in your new uniform," Jax smirked as Marlowe wrapped her arms around his neck, bringing his mouth to hers.

It was just after 7:00 in the morning. In a couple of hours, Marlowe would be starting her new job with the San Joaquin Ambulance Service Corps after enjoying a long weekend with Jax and Abel, who Jax now hoped would remain dead to the world in his crib. But as much as Marlowe wanted to head back to bed with her man, she reluctantly broke their kiss and shoved him away.

"Sorry, baby, but I have a 30-minute drive in rush hour traffic to Stockton ahead of me and I can't be late on my first day," she replied but sighed with exasperation as Jax pulled her back into his arms and started nibbling on her lips again.

"So, use that lead foot Happy's always bitchin' about," he muttered as he started trailing kisses down her neck. "Cut 15 minutes off your commute."

"Fifteen minutes, huh? It may take longer than that just to warm me up, outlaw," Marlowe teased and laughed as Jax pulled back to give her a look that said, "Who are you trying to kid?"

"Darlin', I'm always up for a challenge. 'Sides," Jax flashed her a sexy grin, "two minutes is all I really need."

"Two minutes?!" Marlowe almost squawked. "Are you suggesting that I wrinkle my outfit for a Tig special?" she groused playfully.

Jax looked at her with a raised eyebrow. "What the fuck you know about a 'Tig Special'?"

"Enough to know that I don't want it on the menu, ever," she replied as she hooked her right leg around his hip. "So, if we're gonna do this, I hope you're planning on doing me right."

 _After all, who says I have to get there super early_ , Marlowe thought as Jax locked lips with her again.

So engrossed in enjoying a morning quickie for breakfast, the pitter-patter of tiny bare feet on the kitchen's tile floor didn't register with the couple. Only when Abel's small body slammed against their legs and he wrapped his arms around them in a vise-like grip did they become aware of the intrusion by a third party.

"What the hell?" Jax muttered as he looked down to eye the mop of wavy blond hair giggling up at him. "How did you get out of your crib?" he asked, his tone bordering on exasperation and pride at his son's cock-blocking exploits.

"Morning, Daddy and Arlo!" Abel grinned cheerfully, his tiny teeth gleaming as his blue eyes beamed mischievously. "Up!" he ordered imperiously, holding his arms up to Marlowe, who quickly wiggled her bra back into place and pulled down her blouse before bending over to pick him up.

"Can you believe this shit?" Marlowe grinned as Abel grabbed a handful of her hair. "You might be right, baby. We need to get him into a real bed before he hurts himself climbing out of the crib," she stated as she nuzzled the little boy's cheek.

Jax grinned as he zeroed in on Marlowe's comment. "Yeah, _we_ should definitely take care of that sooner rather than later," he agreed, "but right now maybe you might want to take a minute to have some alone time with little man before we get back to finishing what we started."

Marlowe shook her head with feigned regret. "Sorry, outlaw. After I get baby boy here dressed, I've got to get my ass to Stockton," she said over her shoulder, her hips swinging saucily as she made her way to the nursery.

"But I love you," Jax pouted engagingly and chuckled when she ignored him, preoccupied with tickling a franticly giggling Abel mercilessly instead.

Determined not to give up without a fight, Jax followed after her, grinning wickedly. _Stockton_ _can wait. I've got first dibs on that ass_.

* * *

San Joaquin Ambulance Service Corps was located in the very heart of Stockton. The SAS, as it was known to the populace at large, was the largest independent provider of emergency services in San JoaquinCounty, providing transport to all hospitals within the cities and towns of Stockton, Lodi, Charming, Lathrop, Manteca, Ripon, Tracy and Escalon. With a population of nearly 700,000 in the 480,000 square miles of San JoaquinCounty, the SAS was the only ambulance corps seeing to its residents' emergency needs.

With seven sites located throughout SanwaCounty, the SAS's home office in Stockton was the headquarters of the organization established nearly 60 years ago. Located over a four-block radius in downtown Stockton, HQ occupied what was known as "the Barn," the former site of a large commercial dairy farm that went bankrupt just before the start of World War II. After the attack on Pearl Harbor, the federal government purchased the land and turned it into a military transfer station. After the war, with the installation no longer necessary, the land was resold to a long-time resident of Stockton and former army medic. Deciding that emergency services were severely lacking in that part of Northern California, the WWII vet started the area's first ambulance corps.

The Barn was comprised of a large 3-story building that housed the administrative offices, training and supply facilities, and staff parking lot, as well as a large ambulance bay, parking lot for the SAS's 50 emergency vehicles of various types and sizes, and a large locker room and shower facility for the nearly 80 EMTs and Paramedics employed by the corps. There was also an on-site automotive repair shop that serviced their entire fleet of vehicles.

Marlowe had practically memorized the history and background of the SAS thanks to the materials provided to her along with the employment papers she had received the week before. Now, as she was escorted to the ambulance bay by the head of the Human Resources Department herself, she hefted the large blue duffel bag bearing the corps' insignia in white onto her shoulder.

Managing to make it to Stockton on time—no thanks to her oversexed biker—Marlowe had spent the rest of the morning filling out a voluminous mountain of paperwork before being taken to the uniform supply department. There, Marlowe had been provided with the gear she would need for her new job—five summer weight uniforms comprised of Navy blue shirts and pants, plus a jacket and a hat. It had been a relief to finally rid herself of the designer pantsuit her aunts had forced her to buy in lieu of her new uniform. It had been a long time since Marlowe had worn a uniform of any sort and as she stared at herself in the small changing room's mirror, she felt a strange sense of comfort mixed with nostalgia. Uniforms, after all, had been a major part of her existence for the past ten years. Now, however, she was gearing up for a different kind of adventure. Although still a somewhat dangerous adventure, it was one she hoped at the end of the day would provide her the satisfaction of doing a job well done.

Glad that she had decided to bring along her beloved pair of combat boots, Marlowe pulled her KA-BAR from her backpack and contemplated whether or not it was smart to carry a weapon while on the job. Realizing that she was too seasoned a combat vet to not walk around with some form of protection, she shoved it into her boot without giving it a second thought. Considering that carrying the gun that Jax had given her was a big no-no for so many reasons, the knife was enough to make her feel at ease. With her new gear on, Marlowe was escorted to her new workplace.

"You don't know how glad we are to have you on board," Lisa Dean, a pert young blonde with a petite yet curvy frame, stated emphatically. "I'm really hoping that you enjoy working here. Not only is it fulfilling work, but you'll be surrounded by some really great people who are serious about their work. With your background, I think you'll make a perfect fit."

"That's what I'm hoping for," Marlowe replied genuinely as Lisa ushered her towards the bay. The building had two floors, the first of which housed ten ambulance bays and the auto shop. The employee lounge, locker rooms and shower facilities were located on the second floor. Stopping every few moments, Lisa took the time to introduce Marlowe to a number of men and women who seemed very down to earth and friendly.

"Welcome to the Barn," a thirty-something woman called out cheerfully as she and her partner hurried passed them.

"Looks like Flora and Jerry are heading out on a call," Lisa said as she waved. Marlowe turned to watch as the two EMTs got into the nearest parked ambulance, turned on its sirens and beat a hasty path for the lot's exit.

Walking through the double doors, Marlowe followed Lisa as she made her way up a wide set of stairs leading to the second floor. Just before hitting the doorway, Marlowe felt herself shudder with a sense of déjà vu as the dank, slightly moldy and bleachy smell of the showers hit her nostrils. Mingling with the scent of aftershave, sweaty socks and cigarettes coming from the locker room, Marlowe almost had to remind herself that she was in Stockton, not Kabul. Strangely enough, she was starting to feel at ease, as if she were returning to some place quite familiar.

"So the showers, is it a community-style set up here?" Marlowe asked curiously.

"Oh no," Lisa looked nearly scandalized. "We have separate shower and locker facilities for the men and women."

"Well, that's a perk," Marlowe smiled. "In Afghanistan, it was pretty much a communal, outdoor set up," she commented as Lisa's eyes widened. "Separate stalls," Marlowe quickly assured her, "but that was pretty much as far as privacy went aside from the latrines."

"Well, damn," Lisa exclaimed. "That's a little harsh."

 _When the goal is trying to keep you and your buddies from catching a bullet, no one really cares who's looking at your naked ass_ ,Marlowe thought cynically.

Following Lisa past the men's facilities, she walked into a reasonably sized room with about 25 lockers. "Roughly a quarter of our EMTs are female. Even less are Paramedics. With your background and experience, you should really consider getting certified as a Para. Your probationary period is six months and you have to be here another year before you can qualify to make the transition but once you do, you get a really nice bump in salary and extra benefits, too."

Taking her to a far corner, Lisa gestured to a locker. "This one is all yours," she announced as she pulled a small card with the locker's combination from the pocket of her chic pantsuit. Quickly memorizing the number, Marlowe opened the locker, which was surprisingly large. After Marlowe stored her duffel bag and backpack, Lisa continued the tour around the shower area, lounge with a small kitchen, and the shift manager's office where she would punch in and out, and introduced her to several more female staffers who were just getting off shift.

Lisa exhaled with a deep sigh. "Okay, I guess it's time we head downstairs so I can introduce you to your partner," she suggested with much less enthusiasm and a barely perceptible eye roll.

Marlowe quirked an eyebrow. "Judging by that look, is there something I should know?"

Lisa sighed again. "Well, remember when I said that you'd be working with some really great people?"

"Uh, yeah."

"I lied," Lisa said flatly and Marlowe watched as the younger woman's rear twitched with anger as she led the way. Pinching the bridge of her nose with a shake of her head, Marlowe followed Lisa back downstairs and into the bay, wondering just what kind of shit she had gotten herself into.

"Hey, Marlowe! Hold on!"

Both women stopped and turned, with Marlowe smiling cheerfully as a familiar middle-aged man trotted over to them. "Hey, Shane," she said holding out a hand that was shaken firmly.

"You two know each other already?" Lisa asked curiously.

"Yeah, it was Shane who referred me to the SAS and helped me get certified," Marlowe replied. "Something I am truly grateful for."

"Not as grateful as I'll be when you make it past six months and I get my referral bonus," Shane deep blue eyes twinkled underneath his slightly out of control eyebrows, his curly and silvery yet still red hair rustling in the breeze. "I heard you were starting today and I was hoping to get back in time to give you the tour." He turned to look at Lisa. "Looks like Lisa beat me to it, though."

"Not quite," Lisa responded, a suddenly sour expression crossing her face. "I was just about to show Marlowe around the bay before introducing her to her training partner."

Shane put a reassuring hand on the young woman's arm. "Tell ya what, Lisa. Let me finish up for ya. I saw Avery around the back, so I'll make the introductions, okay?"

"Thanks," Lisa said gratefully, suddenly perking up. "I really appreciate being spared having to speak to that asshole." Turning to a somewhat surprised Marlowe, Lisa held out a hand for her to shake. "Welcome aboard and please don't hesitate dropping by my office or giving me a call if you need anything."

"Ouch," Marlowe said quietly as she and Shane watched Lisa walk happily away. "Is it me or am I sensing some bad blood between her and my training partner?"

Shane chuckled wryly as he led the way. "Lisa's a really nice young woman who gets along well with everyone. That being said, yes, she has some major issues with your new partner," he explained. "She doesn't like him very much."

"Yeah, I got that."

"Look, Avery's a nice guy, a great EMT with an extraordinary skill set and a wonderful way with patients but," Shane said a little ruefully, "he's kind of an asshole."

"So I've heard," Marlowe drawled with half a smile, "but no worries. I'm sure I've dealt with worse," she said, thinking of Tig for the second time in one morning.

"Um, probably not. I mean, don't get me wrong because I do like the guy. He's good at what he does and he's an excellent teacher," Shane assured her as they turned the corner. "He's also good-looking and he knows it. Avery can—and probably has—charmed the knickers right off a nun. I wouldn't trust him within ten feet of my two grown daughters _or_ my wife," he gave her a knowing grin. "Between you and me, I think Lisa keeps assigning females for Avery to train because he's one strike away from getting fired for sexual harassment. If I didn't know your background better, I'd say that Lisa scored a fatal hit by partnering the two of you together because you're just his type."

Marlowe laughed. "And what type is that?"

"A woman, duh," Shane said with a smile. "Just kidding, but not really. Anyway, something tells me you're going to keep his ass in line just fine. Speaking of the devil," he gestured to a group of men who were gathered around a makeshift card table in one of the bays. "Bet you can't pick him out of a line up," Shane challenged with a wicked smile.

Marlowe focused her gaze on the five men who were obviously on break and currently enjoying themselves. The fact was that despite the various sizes, colors and ages, there wasn't a bad looking man in the bunch. In any case, however, it wasn't at all difficult zeroing in on the wolf in the pack.

 _Not bad_ , Marlowe thought with a little admiration. _Not fuckin' bad at all_.

"The blond," she stated confidently, nodding towards the one in the center of the group. With his hands at pectoral level, his fingers splayed wide and his elbows tucked into his side, it didn't take a lip reader to guess he was describing some poor woman's big breasts, thus already marking himself as an asshole.

Shane laughed. "Yup, like I said. You're going to do just fine," he asserted. "Come on and let me introduce ya."

"Can't wait," Marlowe replied sarcastically as she and Shane casually strolled over to the group.

Marlowe prided herself on her ability to gauge people's reactions and getting the lay of the land merely through observation. Generally speaking, body language wasn't all that difficult to read and she could sense a shift in the atmosphere as she and Shane approached the group of men.

As a woman in the Navy and as one of its few female Hospital Corpsman, Marlowe realized early on that in order to do her job she would have to develop a thick skin. That had been especially true when dealing with the archaic mindset of the overly macho Marines she had been trained to care for on the battlefield. She had grown accustomed to the general attitude that she was just a token female playing war games when men's lives were on the line. It was never until they saw her in action that they believed that her reputation as one of the Navy's top medics was well-deserved. And it wasn't until those same men saw her handle a weapon that she lost her "grunt" status during her first TOD. She knew that working in the Barn would be no different. Like the many women that had come before her, Marlowe was damn sure she would have to prove herself capable before gaining the trust and respect of her male counterparts.

Eyeing them with an easy going smile, Marlowe was fully aware of the side glances and outright stares that implied sexual interest as she was examined from head to toe, the worst offender being the tallest man in the group. Shoving her hand in the pocket of her slacks, Marlowe took a casual stance as she and Shane came to a stop in front of the group.

_Okay, let's do this._

"Head's up, boys. There's a newbie on deck," Shane said pleasantly as he offered handshakes all around. "I'd like you to meet Marlowe Guthrie. Marlowe, this here is Carlos, Ronnie, Lamar, Hank, and Avery, your training partner during probation."

Knowing she was being scrutinized with great interest by her new partner, Marlowe shook hands and offered the other four men an engaging smile before turning laser beams on Avery, who boldly winked at her before flashing her with panty-dropping grin.

Standing at 6'2 and in his early 30's, Avery was the epitome of All-American hotness. With a physique that could only be described as powerful, he had broad shoulders that tapered down to a narrow waist and iron cannons where his arms should be. Thanks to the tight-fitting uniform shirt he wore, Marlowe could make out the outline of a well-developed six-pack and was sure all that muscle he was packing came in handy on the job. With neatly trimmed wavy blond hair, a clean-shaven and strong square jaw line and deep set blue-green eyes, Marlowe wondered why Human Resources wasn't using the image he projected for recruitment purposes. With Avery as poster child, the SAS would have gotten not only a slew of new applicants, but a shit load of fake emergency calls to go with them.

"Avery Dennison," he introduced himself as he held onto her hand a moment longer than deemed necessary. "I knew I had been assigned a probie, but you are _not_ quite what I was expecting."

"Maybe you were expecting a hairy, hunchbacked troll?" Marlowe said with a teasing gleam in her heather gray eyes.

Avery chuckled. "Not a troll, but certainly not someone as pretty as you."

Marlowe raised an eyebrow. "Is that a problem?"

"Not as long as you can handle the work," he responded candidly. "This job is hard enough without having to tend to a partner who's a delicate little flower."

"Then I'm sure we won't be having any problems in that regard," Marlowe asserted. "I can handle my shit. All I need you to do is show me the ropes."

"Shit, son!" Lamar, a powerfully built man with skin the color of melted chocolate said with a snarky grin. "Your ass is gonna have to toe the line with this one!"

"Yup," Shane chimed in. "In Marlowe's case, this training period is just standard protocol as she comes to the Barn with a whole lot of experience. She served three tours in Afghanistan as a Marine medic."

"Damn, you were in the Marines?" Carlos, a short but bulky Hispanic, asked somewhat surprised.

Marlowe shook her head. "Navy, but I did my time overseas with the Marines as a Hospital Corpsman," she replied with no fan fare and watched as the looks on her new co-workers faces morphed from critical and sexual in nature into looks that conveyed respect.

"A combat vet," Avery said evenly, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "I would say I'm impressed but around here, actions speak louder than words. You up for the challenge?" he dared.

Crossing her arms over her chest as well and mimicking Avery's stance, Marlowe smiled sardonically. "I am up for anything you have in store for me, _Teach_."

 _Shit just got a whole lot more interesting around here_ , both Marlowe and Avery thought for entirely different reasons.

* * *

Marlowe spent the rest of the day working with and getting to know her new partner. Taking her over to what was their rig—a blue and white full-sized Type III ambulance—Avery patiently took her through the inner and outer workings of their vehicle. Although definitely something of a major flirt, Marlowe had no problems seeing the asshole potential she had been warned about, but it was obvious by his knowledge and instruction that Avery not only knew what he was doing, he loved his job as well. When he wasn't trying his best to quiz her on her personal background—specifically, whether or not she was seeing anyone—Avery patiently took his time in explaining how the shifts worked and the ins and outs of working for the SAS as they went out on several emergency calls throughout the day.

Avery also had no problem in volunteering tons of information about himself. First and foremost, he made it quite clear that he was 34 and single. After graduating from StocktonUniversity with a Master's in business, he worked as a mortgage banker for Stockton Savings & Loans. When the housing bubble popped and the recession hit, he was just one of many in the mortgage industry to lose his job. With a six-month severance package and other investments as a cushion, Avery decided to leave banking altogether in order to search for a more fulfilling career path. A gym rat buddy of his suggested becoming an EMT and before he knew it, he had been with the SAS for the last two years and was currently training to become a certified Paramedic.

As much as he poked and prodded, Marlowe managed to keep their conversation on a professional level. She did have to admit, however, that Avery's talkative and flirtatious nature had made the rest of the day go by quickly. By the end of the day, she was feeling really good about her new job and couldn't wait to get back to the lot to tell Jax all about it. Thinking of her new partner, however, Marlowe decided on the drive home that maybe it would be best not to tell him _everything_ about her day.

It was about an hour after sunset when Marlowe pulled her car into her designated parking space on the lot. Slamming the car door, she hefted her backpack onto her shoulder. As she strode across the lot towards the Clubhouse, she quirked an eyebrow at the increased amount of attention she was getting from a number of the patches and hang-arounds who were deep into an unexpected party.

As several wolf whistles erupted from a couple of scattered crowds, Marlowe grinned and called out, "Apparently, you boys have an appreciation for a woman in uniform."

"Damn straight!" a member visiting from the Fresno charter shouted, "and you fill that shit out NICE, baby doll! Why don't you grab me a beer and bring that sweet little bubble ass of yours over here so we can talk some more about it?"

"Back off, asshole," Marlowe heard one of his more familiar-looking companions mutter with a shove. "That's Happy's kin. Push up on that and you might end up in a body bag."

"Shit, fuck! How was I supposed to know? My bad, darlin', I mean ma'am," the biker shouted apologetically before turning away quickly.

Barely covering a snort of laughter with a couple of feigned coughs, Marlowe made her way into the Clubhouse. After a long first day on the job, all she wanted was a cold beer in her hand and a hot man in her bed, in that order and on repeat.

For a Monday, the party was in full swing inside and Marlowe had to practically push her way through the crowd, returning several greetings as she headed towards the bar. Still a couple of feet away, Marlowe managed to make eye contact with the Prospect behind the bar. The lanky young man with stringy, greasy hair had turned out to be a quick study as, after just a few months on the job, he had learned the drinking habits of the Club and the people associated with them. By the time she reached the bar, Ratboy had slammed down an icy cold bottle of beer he had just uncapped and shoved it in her direction.

"Oh bless you, Ratboy," Marlowe sighed gratefully before grabbing the bottle and taking a couple of deep swallows.

"Hope you're off the clock, Doc," a sultry voice drawled from behind her and Marlowe turned to face the SAMCRO matriarch.

"Until morning," Marlowe replied before taking another couple of pulls and cutting loose with a polite belch. "A working girl needs a reward after a long hard day."

Gemma grinned and nodding towards Ratboy got her own beer before leaning up against the bar companionably.

"You know," she started as she eyed Marlowe up and down. "I never thought I'd be the one to say this, but that uniform you have on is quite an improvement over your normal attire. I guess seeing you in a new outfit was worth the price of you getting a job," she smirked as Marlowe rolled her eyes over her beer as she leaned against the edge of the bar. "Although I see you still haven't let go of those damn combat boots," Gemma sighed almost dismally.

Fingering the collar of the summer weight Navy blue jacket bearing the insignia of the Sanwa Ambulance Service Corps on its shoulder, Marlowe grinned as she did a small twirl to show off the dark blue J. Crew-style shirt and slacks that completed her ensemble. "I happen to think it works. Aside from the boots, I guess I should be glad you approve considering you're the Gold Standard of biker queen chic."

Gemma crossed her arms over her impressive rack that was squeezed into a tight fitting white V-neck blouse with flowing sleeves over tight black leggings. "No need to mock me, Doc."

"I mock you not, ma'am," Marlowe grinned mischievously as Gemma raised a perfectly arched eyebrow. "There's no doubt you've got your shit together when it comes to looking good and now that I have some change in my pocket, I was thinking maybe we—"

"Halle-freakin'-lujah!" Gemma whooped. "We can go shopping this weekend. There are a couple of great boutiques in San Leandro that have the perfect style for your rock hard physique. You can probably pull off any ensemble, but I'd love to soften you up a bit while still showing off how fit you are. In fact, I already picked up a little something for ya a couple of days ago," Gemma began as she was treated to the whites of the Club medic's eyes.

"Like what?" Marlowe almost whined, instantly regretting bringing up the subject of shopping as she set her empty beer bottle down on the bar.

"Believe it or not, a sexy little dress you can work even with those blasted boots you like to wear," Gemma retorted.

"Ugh! I don't need a dress. I _have_ a dress."

" _A dress_ ," Gemma emphasized with the use of air-quotes. "As in one, which I haven't seen you wear since you came around for Sunday dinner. Now that you're sticking around and getting serious with Jax, I would think you'd want to make yourself a little more presentable—" Gemma stopped as Marlowe flashed her with a death glare. "Come on now, baby girl. You know you need help."

Marlowe sighed. "I don't doubt that, Gemma, but Jax seems perfectly satisfied with me just the way I am," she countered. "If it ain't broke, don't fix it. Besides, Jax is totally the clothing-optional type of man."

_Then again, he did get all hot and bothered about me in a pantsuit._

"In the bedroom, absolutely. You give him whatever he wants, packaged however he wants it. But in the Clubhouse, he's no different from the rest and what man doesn't want his woman looking good so he can rub it in the faces of other men?" Gemma said wisely. "Patches want their brothers coveting both their women as well as their bikes. Trust me on this, baby girl."

"Did you really just put me in the same category as Jax's bike? Like something he owns?" she snarked.

Gemma put a hand on her cocked hip. "Stop kidding yourself, Marley. You know he _owns_ that pussy," she smirked as Marlowe rolled her eyes again, noting that the young woman wasn't arguing her point. "I know you're a tough bitch, sweetheart, but shit's a little different in the biker universe. Sometimes you just have to be willing to accept help when it's offered. I have to watch out for the next generation of SAMCRO women," Gemma said quietly, both women oblivious to the noise of conversation around them as they talked.

For a moment, Marlowe was at a loss for what to say. Offering to take her shopping was the SAMCRO Queen's own warped way of taking her under her wing. Although Marlowe was sure she'd probably kick and scream the whole way through her biker bitch makeover, it still meant a lot that the tough-minded mother of the man she loved would even bother.

About to reply that if pressed she could probably find some time to go shopping, especially since Abel needed a new bed, Marlowe watched as an irritated look crawled across Gemma's perfectly made up features.

"Well, will you look at this shit?" Gemma groused, and nodded her head towards the Clubhouse entrance.

Leaning against the door, an attractive young woman, no older than 19 if she was a day, with long curly chestnut-colored hair had quickly pressed up against the patch that had just walked inside. Ordinarily, Gemma didn't give a shit about croweaters crawling all over a patch. After all, that was what they were there for, to open beers and suck dick.

But this time, the patch in question was Jax.

Suddenly, an uninvited third party made his presence known, intruding into Gemma's train of thought. "Looks like the new girl is busting a move," Tig sniggered as he playfully threw an arm around Gemma's shoulders before eyeing Marlowe who was standing next to her. "Looking pretty cozy there, Doc," he teased unmercifully.

"Shut up, Tigger," Gemma sniped as she gut-checked him with her elbow. Ignoring his yelp of pain, she turned to Marlowe who seemed totally unconcerned. "Are you okay with that rubbing up on Jax?" she asked irritably and then winced.

 _Shit, that just sounded eerily familiar_ , Gemma groused as she thought about another time, another old lady, said old lady's lukewarm response to her question and the tragic outcome _._

Gemma watched as Marlowe grinned. " _Should_ I have a problem with that, Gem?"

"I'd think so. Now that the doctor bitch is gone and the word is out, all these skanks are thinking Jax is a free dick again," Gemma explained. "And I never took you for the type of old lady that would be okay with sharing her man."

Marlowe crossed her arms and eyed the Queen. "And what do you suggest I do?" she asked conversationally as if discussing the weather.

"Baby girl, you've got to educate. Take the bitch down. The others will see it and get the message," Gemma stated emphatically. "It's not like you don't have the skills. I've seen that shit on display up close and personal."

"I fuckin' knew it!" Tig interrupted gleefully. "I knew you were the one that fed Tara that knuckle sandwich. Damn it! I would have paid money to see that shit go down."

"Shut the fuck up, Tigger," Gemma warned again. This time, however, Tig grabbed onto her elbow before she could slam it into his stomach a second time.

"I have to agree with Gem here," Tig continued chiming in. "You have to fuck the bitch up, maybe rip off some of her clothes, she returns the favor and everybody's happy, especially me." He grinned maniacally.

"Fighting over men is a waste of time and energy, especially when there are far more effective ways of getting your message across," Marlowe muttered as she watched the sexy tramp edging closer to the SAMCRO Pres as he politely tried to extract himself from the situation. "Excuse me, Gem but can you and Tigger move over just a smidge to the left?"

Cocking her head in confusion, Gemma shrugged her shoulders and shoved at Tig with her hip. "Move," she ordered and watched as Marlowe bent down to her boot. "What are you doing?" she asked, her eyes widening as she saw what was now in Marlowe's hand.

"This," Marlowe said and taking quick but careful aim, brought her right arm back over her shoulder and let the knife fly.

Gemma swore she could hear the knife making a shooshing sound as it flew through the air. The impact of the 6" KA-BAR embedding itself into the Clubhouse entrance barely six inches from the pert nose of the overly touchy-feely croweater reverberated through the Clubhouse. The room suddenly fell silent with only the steady drone of some classic rock playing in the background.

"Holy shit!" Tig hollered as the croweater took one look at the protruding knife and fainted into a heap of dead weight against the door.

* * *

Having only just turned down the croweater's fervent offer to help him relax with a deep-throated blow job, Jax had started to back away in the other direction when he heard the impact of the blade hit the door. Considering the fact that he could have easily been a dead President at that moment, Jax Teller found that his dick was as hard as an iron spike as he looked in the direction the knife had come from and found the woman he had been looking for standing at the bar.

 _Fuck! I knew she was gonna look hot in that damn uniform_ , he thought with a smirk as he drank in her lithe body in her new work clothes. With her hair pulled back into a ponytail and her balled fist resting lightly on a cocked hip, she looked tall and undeniably sexy, her lightly tanned features glowing as she flashed him a wicked and knowing smile.

Tugging quite hard in order to liberate the knife deeply embedded in the door, Jax refused to break eye contact with his old lady as he fingered the tip of the blade and slowly swaggered over to her.

"Looks like you lost something, Doc," he said casually as he handed the knife over, handle first. He watched as she took it and perched her foot on a bar stool before slipping the KA-BAR back into her boot.

Marlowe shook her head slowly. "Nope, I didn't lose anything. I put that knife _exactly_ where it needed to be," she said confidently.

"I'm getting the vibe that maybe once Candy wakes up, she'll be grateful that it didn't 'need' to be any closer, darlin'," Jax smiled sexily.

"As she should be," Marlowe drawled. "You see, I have impeccable aim, courtesy of Uncle Sam and the Unholy One. I didn't miss by accident."

"Yeah, I kinda got that, babe," Jax said as he put his hand on her slim waist and pulled her closer to him.

"Good," Marlowe smirked, raising her voice slightly to make sure she was heard, "because the first one's a freebie, a one-time warning to any bitch with thoughts of stepping over me." She smiled as she saw a light of amusement dance in Jax's blue eyes. Lowering her voice to a whisper, Marlowe grabbed the lapel of Jax's kutte and tugged, "It's also a warning for you, baby."

"Really?" Jax drawled. "How's that?"

"It's just a friendly reminder that I know where the exit is," Marlowe started coyly. "You decide to get your dick wet with someone else and I just might have to use it."

Jax grinned, his taut lips a little menacing. "Technically speaking, that's not how shit works in my Clubhouse, darlin'."

"I don't give a shit, outlaw. I'm telling you how shit works with me," Marlowe smiled wickedly as she totally ignored Gemma and Tig who were avidly listening to their conversation, as were a number of other onlookers who were close enough to overhear. "The moment you think about trying out someone else's pussy on for size, my ass will be back in Bakersfield before you're done pulling out." Jax smiled broadly as Marlowe wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed the faintest of kisses on his lips. "You understand?"

"I understand that if you're gonna kiss me, you better kiss me like this," Jax growled before he slammed his lips onto hers.

Groaning as his tongue danced against hers, it took several moments before the hoots and hollers that had erupted in the Clubhouse finally penetrated the lusty fog enveloping them. Pulling away, Marlowe rolled her eyes as the clapping and whistling continued.

"All right, assholes! Show's over!" she declared.

"The hell it is," Jax retorted loudly. Hoisting a squealing Marlowe over his shoulder, he headed for his room. "We're just getting started."

"Well," Gemma smiled widely as she turned to watch the couple take off for the dorms. "Something tells me this one won't have any problems with croweaters or porn bitches pushing up on her man."

"No she won't, doll," Tig agreed as he too watched the lovers run off. "If anything, Doc's gonna have trouble staying unfucked around her old man 'cause damn, Jax is head over heels, huh?"

Gemma nodded and smiled. "Yeah, that he is."

_Because I was right about this one. Marley is head and shoulders above the rest, especially the doctor bitch!_


	50. Chapter 50

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sons of Anarchy. I do, however, own Marlowe and any other OCs that appear in the 2 Sons Universe.**

**A/N:** **The final chapter!**

* * *

**_Thursday, September 30, 2010_ **

Finally finished reading the last page of the manuscript, Marlowe flipped the black binder closed. With her bare arms wrapped around it, she pressed the binder against her chest as she quietly rocked back and forth in quiet contemplation of all she had read and re-read over the last few days.

It was almost ten o'clock and Marlowe was sitting in the rocking chair of Abel's newly transformed, yet dimly lit bedroom. The little boy she was starting to love more and more each day was fast asleep in his new "big boy" bed and had been for the past couple of hours, ever since nodding off in the midst of his requisite third bedtime story. The rest of the house was also dim and quiet with only Marlowe and Abel in residence, on their own since Monday when Jax had headed to Vancouver with a handful of brothers on a last-minute run.

The night before leaving, Marlowe had noticed that Jax had been more pensive and less playful then what was the norm for him when they were home alone. With Abel down for the night, Jax had jumped into the shower as Marlowe finished doing his laundry in preparation for his road trip. After toweling off his hair, Jax stepped into a clean pair of boxers and sweatpants as he watched his old lady standing by their bed pairing socks and folding underwear.

Hearing him sigh thoughtfully, Marlowe had been about to turn around when he snaked his arms around her waist and tenderly kissed the side of her face.

_"You okay, baby?" Marlowe asked as Jax released his hold on her and sat down on the bed facing her. "You seem a little off tonight. Anything to do with the run?"_

_Biting his bottom lip, Jax shook his head. "Nah, darlin'. Just been doing a lot of thinking about shit."_

_"Like what?" she asked as she rolled up another pair of white socks with military preciseness._

_Running a hand over the hair on his chin, Jax made direct eye contact with Marlowe. "How_ _much do you know about my father?" he asked quietly._

_Blinking once, then twice, Marlowe shrugged her shoulders. "You know Piney, baby. He can get pretty talky once the tequila starts flowing and it greases his tongue," she replied tossing the last of the socks aside in order to sit next to Jax. Taking one of his hands in hers, Marlowe asked, "Why are you asking?"_

_"Because I love you, Marley," he replied simply and adamantly. "I love what we have growing here_ _and I know this might be coming at you after the fact, but I need you to know what you're getting yourself into with me," Jax stated, his brow furrowed in anguish or concern—Marlowe wasn't sure which._

_"_ _I kinda already know what the deal is, outlaw," Marlowe replied with a hint of a smile, her hand caressing his cheek. "And even if I didn't, I'm too invested in what we have to go anywhere. You do know that, don't you?"_

_"I know." Jax grabbed her hand and kissed it. "But I want you to know everything_ _about me and SAMCRO, Marlowe. What people think we are, what we actually were at one time, what we are now and what I hope we become in the near future."_ _With her throat suddenly dry, Marlowe watched as Jax reached for the nightstand drawer and pulled out a black binder. "I want you to read this for me while I'm gone," he said handing her what she would later learn was John Teller's manuscript. "But first I need to tell you about my family history and how it's managed to bleed all over us some forty years later. Just promise me that while I'm on the road, you'll take the time to think about what I'm gonna tell you before you decide whether you're staying or you want out—"_

_"Jax, I'm not—" Marlowe interrupted, but he stopped her._

_"In spite of everything I have to tell you, I want you to know that_ _I'm working really hard on changing shit around, so just promise me that you'll think long and hard before making any decisions. Please," he nearly pleaded._

_Feeling somewhat shaken and unsure, Marlowe gave Jax a slight nod. "I promise."_

And then, Jax quietly started telling her the story of John Teller and Piedmont Winston. Some of it, such as their time in service to their country in Vietnam and the formation of the MC after they returned home, she had heard from Piney and Clay. Most of it, however, she had learned over the last few months from Gemma. In confidence, the SAMCRO matriarch had shared with Marlowe how JT had been the love of her life in spite of being a lousy father and even worse husband.

As Marlowe listened to Jax, it had become increasingly clear that most of what he knew of his father he had learned second-hand, first from the men JT had called brothers and then through the manuscript he had finished writing the year he died. The same manuscript that Jax had only discovered two years ago and which he was now imploring her to read.

It was strange and somewhat sad to hear Jax speak of the man that had made him mostly in terms of the Club instead of as a father. According to Gemma, JT had been pretty much an absentee family man the last few years of his life. For a long time and leading up to the end, it seemed as if Gemma had been raising her two boys as a single mother. Spending large chunks of his time in Belfast on Club-related business, John hadn't even made it back to Charming in time to see his youngest son Thomas alive for one last time before the eight year old slipped into a coma and died of heart failure. Hearing from Jax that Thomas' illness had been what had pushed the Sons into dealing guns in the first place just made the whole situation seem all the more sad and tragic to Marlowe.

In spite of making good money with the garage, mounting doctor and hospital bills had almost driven the Tellers into bankruptcy. According to Jax, it had been Clay Morrow and another First 9 member, Keith McGee, who had brought the proposition of dealing guns for the Real IRA to the table. Soon, the money started coming in fast and it was big. Now—some twenty-three years later—the same venture that had saved the Tellers from going under and that provided SAMCRO with a way to earn was threatening to destroy the Club and anyone associated with it.

Although Marlowe had known how Opie's first wife had died, hearing Jax divulge how a crooked ATF Agent's vendetta against the Club resulted in the drive-by shooting that had killed Donna Winston had shocked her to her very core. And it hadn't stopped there. Soon, Marlowe's mind was reeling and her heart pounding in her ears as she learned about Gemma's rape and its aftermath and how the Club had ended up in Stockton in the first place. Nothing, however, had brought her to tears like hearing Jax recount the horror that had been his son's kidnapping.

_Abel kidnapped and abducted to Ireland! Holy shit!_

Even now, Marlowe couldn't process what that must have been like. The thought that she may have never known the little boy she already loved as if he were hers had completely shattered her to pieces. But even though it had all been a lot to process and with Jax feeling guilty about dropping all of it on her the night before he was to leave town, Marlowe was glad he had. With work and caring for Abel keeping her busy and her mind occupied during the day, Marlowe had used her alone time after putting Abel to bed at night to read JT's manuscript and contemplate everything Jax had told her. At least now she understood why Jax was so determined to get SAMCRO out of guns.

Although she and Jax had spoken several times a day since his departure, Marlowe had kept the conversations light and sometimes sexy. She didn't want to distract him out on the road by adding to the strain he was under to carry on his father's legacy the way JT had intended. Whatever needed to be discussed or whatever she had to say could wait until Jax returned home. Besides, with so many thoughts swirling through her head, she knew it was a conversation best had face-to-face.

Marlowe sighed wearily as she tiredly ran her hands over her face scrubbed free of make-up. After four long days and sleepless nights of reading and thinking, all that was left for her to do was figure out the right words to use when telling Jax what her decision was.

* * *

The unexpected run to Vancouver had been something of an inconvenience for Jax. With his plans for Unser Trucking finally put into motion, he had more than plenty to keep him busy in Charming. Duty to the MC had called, however, and even though the troubleshooting run up North had morphed into a good-will tour of SOA charters en route for the National President, he definitely would have preferred having his old lady come along for the ride. Unfortunately, Marlowe wasn't entitled to any time off, unpaid or otherwise, during her first 90-days on the job, so his old lady had stayed behind with his son.

 _And I've fuckin' missed them both_ , Jax thought with his laser-like focus on the road ahead.

Although pitch dark at this time at night, the lonely stretch of highway was a road he was quite familiar with. Now only several miles from his destination, it led straight to the light at the end of the tunnel that was his family back in Charming. And Jax stubbornly refused to acknowledge the voice in the back of his mind asking him just how sure was he that he still had a family waiting for him when he arrived. After all, there had been nothing in his conversations with his old lady over the past several days to indicate that Marlowe was waiting for him with her bags already packed. On the contrary, she had been her normally flirty and sexy self, telling him how much she missed him, especially in their bed at night.

Still, he knew that everything he had dropped on Marlowe before leaving for Vancouver would have been too much for any regular woman to digest and process in just four days. It would take a special kind of woman to accept him and his Club knowing its ancient history, as well as its very ugly recent past. Tara hadn't been that woman and there sure as shit had been times when Jax hadn't feel like the kind of man that deserved happiness and acceptance with a woman like Marlowe. He wasn't perfect, but he was trying to do better. Jax no longer wanted to be the man that had compelled Tara into having an abortion just to get away from him.

With the slightly cooler September days finally bringing an end to the hot and hazy summer, the change in weather felt like a new beginning to Jax and not just in terms of his relationship with Marlowe, but for the Club as well.

With the Ghanezi brothers and their torture porn operation seemingly falling off the map, Opie and Lyla were moving forward by working through their issues. Finally closing the door on his former life with Donna, Opie was focusing his energies on seeing his old lady through outpatient rehab. With Lyla fully recovered from the injuries she had suffered, the couple was spending as much time together with their children as possible in an effort to heal their family.

Even Kozik seemed to have turned a corner as the summer faded away. Three months spent doing intensive physical therapy at the ModestoWellnessCenter had done wonders for his leg. In spite of the devastating injury that had required metal pins and a plate to repair, Kozik was up and about with a slight limp his doctors assured him would improve over time. If all went according to schedule, Jax expected having Kozik back in Charming and at the table by the time SAMCRO settled down for Church on Friday. Neither Kozik nor Marlowe had indicated when or, for that matter, if the fact that they were indeed father and daughter would be revealed to everyone. In Jax's mind, it couldn't happen soon enough as he hoped that such a connection would further solidify Marlowe's connection to Charming.

As he entered Charming's city limits, Jax dared to let himself smile as he inhaled the same air that his old lady and son were at this moment breathing as well. He remembered once telling Marlowe that he wished she had come into his life five years earlier or five years later. He had been wrong about that as now Jax knew that in spite of all the drama with Tara, Marlowe had come into his life at just the right time. Being with her hadn't inspired him to change the direction the Club was heading. Other circumstances had inspired that desire and his stay in Stockton had solidified his determination, but even though Marlowe had never asked him to change—or demanded it the way Tara had—Jax found himself wanting to be something other than an outlaw because she loved him. The more love you have in your life, the more you have to lose and that wasn't a risk Jax was willing to take anymore.

Pulling into his driveway, Jax parked his ride underneath the carport behind Marlowe's car. Hindsight was most definitely 20/20 and Jax didn't see himself repeating the mistakes of the past—his own as well as his father's and stepfather's—in the future. It was indeed possible for a biker to have a fulfilling and happy family life.

Jax just hoped Marlowe knew that as well.

Entering the darkened house, Jax gently closed the door behind him. Noticing the nightlight still on in Abel's room, he took one step into the living room in order to silently drop his saddlebags on the couch before making his way down the hall. Only half expecting to find Marlowe fast asleep in their bed as he passed their bedroom, Jax was surprised nonetheless to find her up and sitting in Abel's room. What surprised him the most, however, was seeing the binder holding his father's manuscript resting on her lap with Marlowe lost in deep thought as she watched Abel sleep.

Suddenly, Marlowe startled at his lingering presence by the doorway and Jax found himself hoping the small nightlight attached to one of the electrical outlets in the room was responsible for the strange shadows dancing across her pretty face. To find himself confronted by the alternative possibility—a look of utter disgust and disappointment he had seen on Tara's face one too many times—would have devastated him on the spot. As Marlowe slowly stood up from the rocking chair, Jax felt his heart unclench as the light shifted and her features softened. Marlowe gently dropped the binder on the seat of the rocking chair as they now stood facing each other from across the room.

As if realizing that Jax was waiting on her cue, Marlowe smiled softly. "I'm all in, baby."

* * *

**_Sunday, October 3, 2010_ **

Sitting back with a sigh, Kozik put a hand on his bloated belly and cut loose with a blissful belch—the kind that would prevent him from having to undo the buttons on his jeans, at least until dessert was served. He had probably done some major damage to his insides by pigging out the way he had at Gemma's dining room table, but the outlaw didn't regret one single bite of the succulent meal he had scarfed down, not once or twice but three times.

 _Four months is a hell of a long time to go without good home cooking enjoyed in the company of my brothers_ , Kozik thought as he looked around the table at the members of SAMCRO and their families. He had been starved of both for far too long.

In spite of it being a "family" dinner with old ladies and kids in attendance, the atmosphere was, as usual, rowdy and raucous as well as warm and enjoyable. Gemma's famous Sunday dinner was, however, a secondary and more private celebration for his homecoming. The first had been a hell-raising affair at the Clubhouse on Friday after attending his first Church since Bloody Sunday. Finally released from the ModestoWellnessCenter, Kozik had been ushered onto the T-M lot teeming with brothers from charters all over Northern and Southern California as if he had just gotten out of prison after a long haul.

Not only had his Club been waiting to vigorously welcome him home, Kozik also had a gaggle of croweaters all lined up to wait on him hand and foot. Even though he had managed to nail a pretty little nurse on his floor once or twice, four months was a long time to go without pussy on the regular. Still, Kozik was hard pressed to decide what he had missed more: riding, fucking or eating real food because if he _never_ ate another arugula salad with pan-seared tilapia it would be too fuckin' soon! His cholesterol would probably kill him in the end, but he would most certainly die a happy man.

Looking across the table, Kozik realized he wasn't the only one enjoying a happy homecoming. Lyla, her slender shoulders wrapped in the embrace of her old man's beefy arm, had just finished her own two-month rehab program. With her sun-kissed skin glowing and her sapphire blue eyes sparkling, she looked the healthiest Kozik had ever seen her. Catching her eye, Kozik raised his bottle of beer to Lyla and watched as she offered him a happy smile and a wave.

When Lyla had first started her treatment at the WellnessCenter, reminiscent of Happy several months before, Opie had approached Kozik, asking him to keep an eye out for his old lady. As a recovering junky himself, Kozik knew how important it was to have a sponsor to see you through the rough times, which undoubtedly would arise every now and again through a lifetime lived in recovery. Although he would not be allowed to directly sponsor Lyla while in rehab, he could mentor her as best as he could and, to Lyla's surprise, had become her willing confidant of sorts. Not only was helping Lyla through rehab an opportunity for him to pay forward the help that he had received in kicking his own addiction, but after learning from Tig the dirty details of the Club's retaliation for the brutality done to her, Kozik wanted to do his part to help the troubled young woman as well. After getting to know the former porn star during her stay at the WellnessCenter, it now seemed as if he had _two_ daughters instead of one.

That thought prompted Kozik to turn his head to the opposite end of the table. Sitting on Clay's right with Abel comfortably lounging on her lap, Marlowe was keeping the men at that end of the table thoroughly entertained with some R-rated story from her Naval past. With her old man and Clay laughing uproariously at her anecdote, Tig and Happy sat across from them in rapt attention, throwing their two cents in every once in a while.

Since learning that Marlowe Guthrie was in fact his biological daughter, the two of them had continued to quietly develop their relationship. Already good friends, even though he cared greatly for the young woman, that was as close as Kozik could hope for them to get. After all, Marlowe would only ever have one father figure in her life. When it was all said and done, the fact was that there was only one man who truly deserved to be called her father and that man was Happy Lowman and Kozik was just fine with that.

Regardless, Kozik was still looking forward to introducing his brother Lew to his "new" niece, while he simultaneously dreaded breaking the news to him of the "accident" that had landed him on his back for nearly four months. Now that he was up on his feet and riding again, Kozik determined that he was due for a road trip to San Diego to visit Lew, his wife and their four teenaged children. If Marlowe could get some time off of work—and if Jax was willing to part with his old lady for a few days—maybe they could make the trip down together so his daughter could meet her new family.

 _My daughter_ , Kozik thought with a smile. _Ain't that the shit?_

First, however, it was time to share the good news with his SAMCRO family. There was no time like the present and, having convinced Marlowe in advance of the same, Kozik made use of his cane to help himself stand up at the table. "Yo! Can't I get everybody's attention for a minute?"

As the chatter in the dining room died down, Kozik cleared his throat.

"Well, first off, I want to thank everybody for helping me get through this shit," he said gesturing towards his leg. "It's times like these that remind me how lucky I am to be a part of this brotherhood known as SAMCRO. We've all gone through some shit over the last six months, but in spite of all that we're still here— _I'm_ still here—and I just want to thank everybody that had a part in that."

As well wishes, whistles and cheers made their way around the table, Kozik took a look at Marlowe. Sitting next to Jax, he could see that to most people she would appear to be rather relaxed. Kozik, however, had gotten to know the young woman rather well and could see the slight tension in the set of her shoulders. As her heather gray eyes fluttered towards Jax, Kozik watched as his President reached for her hand and gave it reassuring squeeze.

 _Time to get this shit over with_ , he thought.

"There is, however, one person in particular that I will be forever grateful decided to come to Charming when she did," Kozik said quietly as the noise died down. "For those of you who don't know the story, about six months ago I was working out down at the Clubhouse, minding my own business when Hap came to me to ask for a favor. Now, aside from being brothers and friends for more years than I care to remember, when the Tacoma Killah asks for a favor, it's not something you would ever consider _not_ doing, so my ears perked up and I listened," he explained candidly. "It was a simple enough task, to watch out for a young woman who was going to be hanging around the Clubhouse for a while. After I pressed him for some Intel—as we all know Hap ain't much of a talker—he finally 'fessed up that she was family. His little sister, to be exact. Having already caught a glimpse of his 'little' sister, there was a part of me that was more than ready, willing and able to look after her, 'cause let's face it, we all know that Doc's a fuckin' hottie."

"Here, here, brother," Tig chimed in as he raised his beer up in the air, to much laughter.

" _But_ ," Kozik emphasized, "I also knew that I liked my teeth in my mouth and not embedded in Hap's knuckles, so I kept shit legit with Doc—"

"Moron," Piney grumbled in what he thought was under his breath, causing some more laughter as his tequila-soaked voice carried across the room.

Rolling his eyes, Kozik continued, "It was easy to see the family resemblance between Hap and Marley too as she was slow to share her counsel, but quick to blow shit up if you stepped out of line. In spite of her being a hard case like her brother," he tossed a wink and a smile in her direction, "we did manage to bond over a shared military background and shit. I think it's safe to say that a lot of us recognized a little bit of ourselves in Doc, which is why she fit in so well with us so-called 'society rejects'."

"I think the word you're looking for is 'anarchists', shithead," Tig called out. "It's right there in the Club's name."

"Shut up, asshole!" Kozik chided good-naturedly. "Anyway, I for one am grateful that our Pres saw the potential in Doc by bringing her on board as our resident medic." Slowly, his leg stiff from sitting for so long, Kozik started to make his way around the table. "I'm walking on both legs today because of her and what she did for me, but that's not the only reason I have for being grateful to have Marlowe Guthrie in my life." Finally making his way around the table, Kozik was standing directly behind Marlowe. Placing a hand on her shoulder, he gave her a gentle squeeze, which did not go unnoticed.

A befuddled Tig looked from Kozik to Marlowe and finally asked Jax, "What the fuck is going on here?"

Jax shrugged his shoulders. "Not for me to say, brother," he said before looking over his shoulder at Kozik. "You wanna put him out of his misery before he starts getting any funny ideas about my old lady?"

Kozik looked over at Happy, who had remained characteristically silent the whole time. "I think it might be best if Hap cleared shit up for everybody." He watched as Happy took a long pull from his beer before setting the bottle on the table and folded his arms over his chest.

"A'ight," Happy replied, his tone a little dark and foreboding in the quiet room. Looking around the table he saw the wide-eyed stares of everyone, including many children. "Since I don't want Ma slapping the taste outta my mouth for getting too descriptive in front of the rug rats," he started in a gravelly tone, "the bottom line is that the gimp standing behind Marley over there is her sperm donor."

* * *

"After all we've been through," Gemma glared at Marlowe as she shoved some more plates at Lyla who was loading the dishwasher, "I still can't believe that you didn't tell me shit about Kozik being your father!"

Leaning against the counter, Marlowe smirked at the show of outrage the SAMCRO Queen was putting on in front of the other old ladies who were on clean-up duty in the small space of Gemma's kitchen. Nearly a full hour had passed since Happy had dropped the bomb and everyone was still chattering away about the subject.

As she had expected, and had somewhat dreaded, it had turned into quite an emotional revelation for Marlowe as she suddenly found herself being scooped up and passed from one patch to another as they welcomed her into the SAMCRO family. After only having Happy, Amelia and Ceci as family, the heartfelt emotions expressed to her by everyone had been a little overwhelming and Marlowe found herself unable to hold back her tears, something Tig claimed—after spotting them—he would never let her live down.

"Well," Clay said as he wrapped her in bear hug, "I knew that a classy, yet hard-nosed bitch of a broad like you had to have some biker in her."

"You mean aside from Jax, of course," Tig cackled, prompting both Jax and Happy to simultaneously smack him on the back of the head.

Shaking his head, but unable to suppress a smile, Clay continued, "Anyways, Doc. Welcome to the family," he said, kissing her on the forehead before passing her along to Chibs, then Bobby and Piney and the rest of the Club as Tig tore into Kozik for not sharing the news sooner.

Now, in the wake of sharing what had been earth-shattering news several months ago, Marlowe's emotions were running the gamut at full throttle. If she decided to share the events of this particular Sunday dinner with Dr. Bellows, Marlowe was sure she'd end up using the entire session just in trying to sort out her feelings.

_Especially if I have to explain the woman that is Gemma Teller-Morrow._

"Untwist your thong, will ya, Gem," Marlowe playfully chastised Jax's mother, eliciting a chuckle out of Lyla. "It's not like we were trying to be intentionally deceptive. Kozik wanted to wait until he was back home and everyone was gathered under one roof before spilling the beans."

Gemma placed a hand on her indignantly cocked hip. "Well, baby girl, I should have been exempt from having to wait for the good news. As a matter of fact, next time you have some special news to share like, I don't know, a baby or a wedding," she said nonchalantly as Marlowe rolled her eyes, "I expect to be the first to know."

"So, how does all this work now?" Lyla asked and Marlowe could have hugged her for moving the conversation in a different direction. "Are you going to start calling Koz 'Dad'?"

"Probably not," Marlowe replied, shaking her head. "Nothing against Kozy because I do love him and I know none of this was his fault, but I've never called anyone 'Dad' and I feel kinda silly starting now," she explained. "Besides, just between us, I think it would hurt Hap's feelings if I started calling another man 'Dad'," Marlowe grinned.

"As it should. I mean, nothing against Kozik because I love all of my boys, but Hap practically raised you," Gemma stated. Distracted by a sudden thought, Gemma turned on Lyla with her hands crossed over her chest. "You've been spending a lot of time with Kozik lately. You sure you didn't know about this shit before tonight?"

"Honest, Gem. I didn't know a thing," Lyla exclaimed with her right hand over her heart. "Koz and I have have talked about a lot of shit, but he never said a word. Besides, we've been busy trying to figure out our plan of action for when we start at Unser Trucking."

Gemma finally relented and walked over to wrap an arm around Lyla, tucking her wavy blonde hair behind her ear. "You ready for the big changes coming your way, sweetheart?"

Lyla's bright eyes and happy expression were a far cry from how she looked several months ago. Wearing a short-sleeved flower-covered dress that was just past her knee with ankle boots, she looked like a pretty blonde fairy. "Absolutely," she replied adamantly. "Going through rehab was probably the hardest thing I've ever done in my life, but it was worth it. Me and Ope, well, we still have a long way to go, but I'm more confident than I've ever been that we can might make it now. We've been having a hell of a lot of great sex," she grinned, "but we're also spending a lot of time together just talking and dreaming out loud and doing things with the kids like a real family."

Marlowe smiled at Lyla. The two young women had somehow managed to form a bond after Lyla's ordeal with the Ghanezi brothers. As far as Marlowe could remember, this was the first time in her life that she had formed a bond of friendship with a woman of her own age. Taking the last couple of plates from Lyla, Marlowe stacked them in the dishwasher before slamming the door shut. "Are you excited about your first day on the job tomorrow?"

Lyla cut loose with a breathy sigh. "Yeah, I am, but I'm also nervous and a little scared. I'm just glad Wayne will be on hand for a while," she replied turning to eye Charming's former police chief who was sitting in an armchair talking with Opie and Jax. "Now that Jax and Piney have officially bought into the business, our focus for the next couple of months will be upgrading the equipment and vehicles and meeting with potential new clients. I'm also thinking about going back to school part-time for accounting. Opie spoke to Jax and Wayne and they both think it's a great idea, but right now I'm just taking it one step at a time."

"That's best, baby girl," Gemma said as she hugged her. "We're all so very proud of you, Lyla. You just make sure you keep your old man in line, not that I think he'll give you any trouble now."

Lyla smiled, her eyes soft and shiny. "Ope has been amazing. He's been there every step of the way with me. He's totally invested in making our marriage work. He's even talking about getting us a new house soon."

Marlowe smiled. "A fresh start in a new home is what you all need. Start making new memories of your own."

"You keep that in mind too, baby girl," the SAMCRO Queen pointed a finger at Marlowe, "but enough talk for now," she declared as she picked up a large chocolate cake that had been resting on the kitchen counter. "Time to get coffee and dessert on the table."

* * *

Spotting a stack of dirty dessert plates on the mantle of Gemma's fireplace, Marlowe was about to make a beeline for them when she felt the resounding sting of her ass being smacked. Turning to give her old man the stink eye, Marlowe yelped instead as Jax pulled her onto his lap. Or, at least, it was the beginning of a yelp before it was swallowed up by the eager and sinfully delicious mouth of the man she loved as he cupped and squeezed one of her tits. Jax smirked as she forced the air out of his lungs with an elbow to the stomach. "Hey! With so many kids running around, let's keep any physical contact between us on a family-friendly level, okay?" she protested as she indicated a wildly laughing Abel being chased by Ellie Winston.

"Babe, I hate to disappoint you, but this is as family-friendly as this biker clan gets," Jax teased. "Besides, I have no intention of not grabbing your ass whenever the opportunity presents itself, so everyone just better get used to it."

"Get used to what?" Happy asked as he plopped down next to Tig on the sofa with a plateful of the caramel flan Marlowe had made.

Smothering Jax's mouth with her hand, Marlowe threatened him menacingly. "Don't you dare answer that."

Tig laughed heartily and slapped a beefy hand on Happy's back. "Hey, it's not like it's a secret around here that the Pres can't keep his grubby biker paws off of ya, Doc. Hap's had plenty of time to deal with that shit. As a matter of fact, I think he's handled it rather well."

Although the SAA's countenance was somewhat dark, Happy smirked as he eyed the couple, his sister firmly ensconced in Jax embrace. It was certainly a far cry from the last Sunday dinner Marlowe had attended where he had been pretty damn close to caving in the skull of Jax's then old lady.

"Ain't shit to me if Jax wants to take up with Marley," he replied offhandedly. "I done warned his ass when he came to me about slapping his crow on her that he was taking up with a fuckin' crazy bitch. After he inks her, though, there's no giving her back."

Marlowe switched her head back and forth between Jax and Happy. "What are you saying?" she asked in a deceptively calm voice as she eyed her brother. "That Jax actually asked you for permission to crow me?"

"Hell's yeah!" Jax interrupted. "Like Kozy, I'd like for all of my teeth to stay right where they are."

Marlowe scratched her head, looking somewhat confused. "I don't know if I should be flattered or insulted."

"Why, G.I. Jane? 'Cause my brother did the right thing for a change in stepping up to me first?" Happy asked gruffly.

"Uh, yeah, you archaic bozo. I make my own fuckin' decisions, or haven't you learned that yet?" Marlowe replied a little waspishly, the battle light in her eyes causing the gold flecks in them to glow hot like coals on fire.

"And what if I haven't? What are you gonna do about it? Run away and join the French Foreign Legion this time?" Happy griped.

"French Foreign Legion?" Tig wondered out loud. "Is that even a thing anymore?"

"Jesus Christ," Jax interrupted. "Is this what I have to look forward to from now on, you two arguing all the fuckin' time?"

"You got a problem with that?" Marlowe and Happy turned on Jax together.

"Guess I don't. My bad," Jax replied sheepishly. Grabbing Marlowe's hand, Jax kissed the inside of her wrist before holding it out to Happy. "So what do you think?" he asked and watched as his SAA pulled Marlowe's arm towards him to examine it closer.

"Right there," Happy etched out an 8-inch rectangular area on the inside of her forearm. "That should be big enough for the design I have in mind. Unless, of course, you really want to get the point across of who she belongs to. If so, I can do it right on her fuckin' forehead."

Marlowe's eyes widened, unable to tell just how serious Happy was when it looked like Jax was actually considering tattooing a crow on her face as if it were an actual option. "Uh, hold on a sec, outlaw. Don't I get any say?"

The SAMCRO Pres and his SAA eyed each other before loudly proclaiming, "No!"

Staring down the two men she probably loved more than anything in the world with the fiercest death glare she could muster, it suddenly dawned on Marlowe just how much alike they truly were. Outlaw alpha males with a loyalty streak a mile long, Marlowe envisioned a future where, in certain situations, her brother and her old man would join forces against her. Even though the prospect of that happening chafed at her feminist sensibilities, it was a future that, to her way of thinking, would have a hell of a lot of drama and a whole lot of love.

Although she wouldn't have it any other way, Marlowe couldn't help but wonder, _What the fuck have I gotten myself into?_

_To Be Continued . . ._

* * *


End file.
